Hand Dare Seize
by Michael Spenik
Summary: Richard is faced with his past as he expands the influence of the Horde beyond Texas and into the bayou, a place that nearly killed him years ago. Old enemies await him, as well as new ones, but he will not face them alone, as the Horde will be at his side, as will allies, friends and family.
Prologue…

Curran is sitting in his dreaded office with his friend and Clan Cat Alpha, Jim, receiving the weekly security update. They had just finished talking about the local area and Jim sighs as he picks up the next file, a thick one that Curran recognizes without seeing the title.

"What has he done this time?" Curran asks, his frown deep and his scowl impressive.

"He's been pushing hard since the incidents surrounding Tiamat, and he's got every shapeshifter in Texas in his hand, now," Jim says looking down at the report he had gotten from his law enforcement contacts. "He's pushed all the way to the border, only El Paso isn't his, and it looks like he doesn't want it."

Curran's brow remains furrowed as he thinks it through, "He doesn't want a contested border, that's why. The rest of the border is patrolled by the US, when Juarez swallowed El Paso, and the Mexican Empire took Arizona and New Mexico, the US let them have it. He's trying not to rock the boat, I'd guess."

"Mine as well," Jim says with a nod. "His numbers are close to ours, now, I'd bet. I'm still trying to get definite numbers on that."

Curran growls, not liking competition, and a knock comes from the door, just before a young werewolf sticks his head in.

"I'm busy, Derek," Curran says with a scowl.

"The Khan of Texas is at the front gate," Derek says without preamble.

Curran raises a thick blond eyebrow in response and rises from his chair.

"Guy's got some cojones, I'll give him that," Raphael says from the wall as he looks down at the two waiting figures in front of the gates of the keep. He is the definition of tall dark and handsome, with black hair and a mischievous smile constantly on his lips, he is the male Alpha for the Bouda Clan of Atlanta.

"He walked past the guards, with no alarms, undetected, and three of them were ours," Andrea says with a hard, angry frown. "Jim's pissed, and so am I. No one should be able to get in here that easy."

She is much shorter than her mate, with thick blond hair and a slight Texas accent that is bleeding through with her anger. She carries three guns in sight with the tech up, and her sniper rifle is leaning on the battlements next to her, should she need it. She wants to be pointing it at the were-tiger below them, but does not, as it would be impolitic.

"Raphael is right," Kate Daniels, Consort of the Beast Lord, says from beside her two friends, dressed with her black leather jacket on and sabre on her back for easy access. "Guy travels halfway across the country with one other person, sneaks all the way up to our doors. And with the expression I saw on Jim's face, as well as the trail of broken clipboards, I'm guessing no one knew the Khan left Houston."

Kate is tall and muscular, not a powerlifter like Curran, but strong and flexible, and with a stride and poise that screams fighter to anyone with sense.

"The guy is good, and I watched him and Curran fight… I don't want to be down there," she says, murmuring the last almost to herself.

Curran walks up to where Richard is standing in front of the Keep, a small book in his hand that he is reading, Mischa beside him reading a book of her own. As Curran approaches, Richard marks the page and tucks away _Siddhartha_ in his pack sitting on the ground beside him. Curran wears jeans, sneakers, t-shirt and a light leather jacket over his thick frame, the weather turning cold in the early winter. Richard is in black jeans, dark green leather vest with black collared shirt under it, and a dark grey cloak pinned to his shoulders and back. Mischa is wearing similar but with a brown vest, tucking away a book of poems by Rudyard Kipling.

"Richard," Curran says with a firm nod at Richard.

"Curran," Richard replies with a small smile and a glance at the walls of the Keep. "Is she sighted in on me? The winds would make it tricky, but I'm betting she's using a .338 of one type or another, at this range, a clap shot."

"Who?" Curran asks, a suspicious look on his face.

"Andrea Nash," Richard says with a smile, looking at Curran again. "I'd bet any number that she's up there with her rifle, ready to pop me on your signal."

"She is, but I don't need her to," Curran says with a frown at Richard, "Why are you here?"

"I'm betting word has gotten to you about my westward expansion, and that I've taken all of Texas," Richard says simply, tossing his head. "We're allies, and I think of you and Kate as friends. I know you hold your cards close to the vest, letting folks think of you as a rage fueled monster. It comes in handy, I've done it myself from time to time, but we both know better."

Curran narrows his eyes at Richard, his posture still easy and relaxed, and he thinks for a pair of breaths before speaking, "I want half of Mississippi, I'll take the north and east from Jackson. You can have the South, and Alabama is mine."

Richard nods understanding, "Jackson to Memphis, then follow the river north. That's the boundary from there."

Curran nods, "You're thinking far ahead."

"You leased land for a century from the government," Richard says with a smirk. "You have too, I'm sure."

Curran chuckles, nodding, "It is nice working with a professional from time to time."

"Just let those you trust in on it," Richard warns, glancing at the battlements. "You saw what happened to me not long ago, with Tiamat and his boss, as well as the previous Jackal Alpha. You've gone through similar, and there's always the chance we won't make it. Don't let it die with you. I don't want to fight my own people."

Curran frowns, but nods, "What brought that about? You don't strike me as the type worried about your mortality, it's not a trait many strong alphas have."

"I'm married, with two teenage kids, and soon, I'll have kids of my own," Richard says, a glance at Mischa. "Tasha and I have a surrogate for our own kids. We have dangerous jobs, protecting and providing for our people and our families, in a world that is becoming increasingly dangerous. I don't want everything we've worked for, sacrificed for, to fall to the wayside unnecessarily."

Curran nods again, then steps forward and extends his big hand, "I want that rematch, still."

Richard chuckles and takes the larger man's hand in his own, Curran gripping hard. Richard only holds the grip, not squeezing in return, and they part with smiles on both their faces.

Hand dare seize…

Richard walks into the cabin door and stops just past the threshold, the scents of the room swirling about him, and he parses and splits them in his head for a moment. He nods to himself and walks to the back and the kitchen, placing his travelling pack next to the couch, and pulling off his cloak. He walks into the kitchen and hangs up the cloak while glancing at the were-lion at the kitchen table in a wheelchair.

"Afternoon, Nita," Richard says with a nod to the Latino woman.

During the final battle with Tiamat, the champion, Quingu, was a giant dragon, and during the battle Nita had been grievously injured and paralyzed. Her spine had been crushed and her internal injuries had been devastating. If Tasha had not poured herself into keeping her alive until the White Vohls had shown up and pulled her through, she would have died. As it was, it was a near thing, and the were-lion had been bed-ridden for two weeks before she was healed enough to move on her own.

He and Tasha had tried to move her to another job somewhere with easier access, but the former Alpha of the Lion Pride simply frowned hard and went about her usual tasks. The cabin had been modified over the following week by him and the other ladies of the house, and while not exactly wheelchair friendly, it works. Nita is still fuming about her disability and is adamant that she will walk again, but her reaction is not lashing out, but to buckle down and work hard to win. Richard is not her friend, but he can respect the attitude and determination, even though the woman hates him personally.

"Tasha is in town, khan," Nita says without looking up from where she is cutting up spices, a meat grinder next to her. "We'll have ribs tonight, and when these are done smoking, I would like you to try them, see if they are better than the last attempt I made."

Richard nods, Nita having claimed she could make kielbasa as good, or better, than his mother could, but her first attempt had been a failure. She was angry with herself and had simply declared that perfection takes time, and has been trying various recipes on him and Autumn.

"The last one wasn't bad," Richard says, walking to the fridge and pulling out a beer. "It just wasn't a style Mom would have made. It was still good sausage."

"I will master this," Nita says in a tone that brooks no argument, and Richard just chuckles at her.

"Arrangements for the party?" Richard asks, leaning on the counter as he sips his beer.

"Kate is taking care of the catering," Nita says, her eyes narrowed as she works a pestle and mortar with some herbs in it. "Maddie's sweet sixteen will be something she'll always remember with fondness, the Pride has guaranteed that."

Richard is smiling as he takes another drink of his beer, then chuckles, "She's got a dozen were-lions for protective aunts. I can't imagine you all haven't taken care of everything."

"Speaking of taking care of things," Nita says with a frown, looking up at him from the food. "That boy is no good for her. You know this."

Richard sighs and frowns, "You know it, I know it, Tasha and Autumn both know it. But you also know, as well as I do, that she's a teenager, and trying to declare she shall not do something will only guarantee that she'll do it."

"The boy's a hooligan," Nita says with a shake of her head. "His papa was a thief and his mother, a good soul, never made good decisions. Three fathers in that family. Three!"

Richard sighs, "There's a saying the Jesuits have, 'I can do anything if I get them young enough'."

Nita pauses in her mixing, frowning and thinking, "It is too late for that boy, I think."

"I wasn't much younger than him when I changed," Richard says with a frown of his own. "And studies have shown the personality doesn't harden until nineteen to early twenties."

"Well, he needs a kick in the ass," Nita says with a toss of her head as she continues her mixing.

Richard says nothing, his mind thinking and processing as he drinks his beer slowly.

Richard pauses on the back step of the cabin, then walks easily down the stairs. He steps to the side and reaches out while spinning, catching the mountain lion in the air as it falls at where he had just stood. He cradles the large cat and jabs his fingers playfully into Jocelyn's ribs, and the cat hisses and writhes as it falls from his grip. Richard is chuckling as the cat lands on its feet awkwardly, shakes itself and looks up at him balefully. Jocelyn is ticklish even in animal form, and he takes advantage of it every chance he can, as Tasha has done the same to him relentlessly.

"I hope your homework is done," Richard says as he looks at the mountain lion wearing a pink sweater with grey patches in it, a knitted thing Autumn had made.

The cat bobs its head and gives a mrowl as it sits up, her head reaching Richard's hips. Richard rubs her head then walks to the theatre, Jocelyn following.

"Go change and help Nita, you have class with the Xiangs in a couple hours, and need to be rested," Richard says when the cat is apparently wanting to stay.

Jocelyn growls unhappily, then slows and returns to the cabin, head low. Richard smiles at the young girl's actions, wondering when the next problem will arise. He enters the theatre, meeting Tasha at the entrance, giving her a firm hug and kiss as they meet.

"The Alphas are here," she says, rubbing her nose on his cheek, reveling in the smell of him.

"Tech should last a few more hours," Richard says as he kisses her forehead, having missed her dearly as well. "Let's get this over with."

"Mischa is at the doctor's," Tasha says as they walk hand in hand to where the council is.

"Today?" he asks, pausing and looking intently at her.

"Today," she says with a nod. "The Lissome doctor were-badger, Dr. McCullen."

Richard takes a breath, "Here's hoping."

"It will work, but remember, there's the chance of more than one," she reminds him, the major consideration for the option of a surrogate mother.

"Such is life," Richard says with a philosophical shrug. "We've got sitters and people to help, so hopefully our nights won't be completely sleepless."

Tasha chuckles and hugs him as they walk, "I missed you. How was the trip?"

"As planned," he says as he pauses in the stands, away from the other leaders who are making small talk on the stage. "It was tense with Mischa, solo. We didn't do anything, but its… odd."

"Give it time," she says with a squeeze.

"I just feel awkward, without you," he admits softly, turning to her. "I know we agreed on this, and she crashes with us from time to time, but that's different."

"We'll figure it out," Tasha says, touching his cheek gently. "She is carrying our child."

"Or children," Richard says with a grin now. "I'm committed, it's just taking some getting used to, is all."

"Oh, the trials you endure," Tasha says theatrically. "Having to cuddle and sleep with your wife's beautiful ex-girlfriend."

"I know," Richard says with a mock scowl. "This is more than any man should have to suffer."

Tasha laughs and lightly taps his cheek in an imitation of slap, "Shut up."

He kisses her deeply, then they walk to where the Council of Alphas wait, to update the Horde on the plan for the future.

Richard stands in the owner's box in the stadium arena of the Bastion, looking out at the assembled Horde within the stands. He had gone to great lengths with Tasha to plan the birthday event, and though it is technically a birthday party for Maddie, they have made it more. Other teens from the Horde are going to celebrate their passage to adulthood tonight, and shortly, at age sixteen and seventeen, those that choose the path of the warrior within the Horde will undergo the testing and initiation, what Richard is calling "The Agoge".

In ancient times, in the Greek City-State of Sparta, the masters of warfare of their time bred and trained the greatest soldiers. At a young age they were taken from their families and thrust into a training regime that was years long, training and teaching them to bear burdens no normal man could withstand. Richard is not looking to go to that level of indoctrination, not yet, but he does want to train them while they are still young and impressionable. So he has come up with his own training schedule which will last four months, and will produce a level of dedication and focus that should set the Horde above other Packs across the planet for the next generation or longer.

Trestle tables are being set up, and in the center of the arena is a long table, with Maddie and Jocelyn gathered with their friends, the two girls' birthdays only a month apart, and Jocelyn agreed that they could have the party together. Richard had sensed a trap, but Tasha had assured him that of the two girls, Jocelyn is the more accepting and pragmatic. He wonders how a ten year old girl, nearly eleven, can be so calm and logical, but he had just nodded, agreed and signed the checks to make the party happen. He smiles down at the gathering of the Horde's youth in the arena, a fake fishing pond for some of the young ones, games along the sides similar to county fairs, all with prizes for exceptional performance ranging from simple pencils and coloring books for the simple ones to the large stuffed animals for some of the higher skill games.

"Always more than one bird with each cast of the stone," Noel says from behind him, having approached, and Richard only smiles at the old were-bear's words.

Richard nods, but does not speak, the magic wave in charge of the world, and with it his ability to communicate with words. Noel is one of the few he trusts inexplicably, since the Alpha of Clan Heavy had drawn Richard into his own trusted circle from the beginning, and as such knows of the Curse of Babylon. Noel steps next to Richard as he looks down at the arena below them, looking at the youth of the Horde enjoying the festivities as their parents and families lounge in the stands. His eyes settle at the center table, and he speaks on one of the topics floating around Richard's head.

"Atticus has moved on, as has his wife, Khan," Noel says, his eyes and that of his Alpha on the were-bear youth leaning on the table beside Maddie. "And the boy has worked hard, here and at the Castle, to make penance for his actions."

Richard only growls low in his throat, an unhappy sound, but not as full or angry as it could be, and Noel reads the subtlety of the sound, chuckling.

"I had a daughter, and I understand," Noel says with a tight smile, the daughter in question having died years ago of adolescent loupism. "I would have been cleaning my guns and weapons every time a boy visited if she'd lasted until that age."

Richard only twists his head, neither an agreement nor acceptance, just a shrug of finality.

Richard walks into the gates of the Bastion, the day after Maddie's sweet sixteen party, having retreated to the Pegasus Way for the night after presenting her his birthday present. He had invested in the Mage Academy, and paid and persuaded them to investigate the possibility of creating a real Pegasus, a horse with wings. The biology and reality were harder than anticipated, and were impossible to manufacture through gene-gineering and magic dabbling, or a combination of the two. So the researchers instead took a step back and looked instead at the desired endstate, a winged mount that was alive and capable of bearing a human with a light to medium load.

Using methods that would make the writer and directors of Jurassic Park proud, they used dinosaur remains to animate and recreate dinosaur fliers. Then, the Mages had started to get creative and had… tweaked them. At first they went all out for smarter, faster and stronger, but after a test subject escaped and the Khan had to hunt down and kill the monster that had destroyed nearly a million dollars of research facility and killed three people, they decided to keep it simple. So they kept to the original intent of a dumb, but not too dumb, pack animal capable of flight. The result was an odd thing, but accomplished the desired endstate of the CEO of Hoffman Resources, their funder, Richard Michaels.

Richard's gift to Maddie was one of the creatures, a large bird/reptile hybrid with wings that were covered in feathers, but with a body covered in a combination of scales and feathers. It has two wings, two legs, a short tail, a head reminiscent of a pterodactyl, and the temperament of a horse, though with sharp teeth and meat-eating. The beast is aerodynamic and capable of flight, being six feet at the shoulder and strong for its size, but has an eccentricity that Richard does not like, though the Mages claim is unavoidable. The creature's feathers are colored in neon shades, bright in any light and nearly glowing even in darkness, especially for shapeshifter eyesight.

So he had the best of the litter of twenty-seven of the beasts prepared and trained, and had presented the purple neon feathered and gray scaled flying mount to Maddie for her birthday. Only Jocelyn had known, helping him get the creature familiar with female shapeshifters, and excited at the surprise for her sister, Autumn helping with arrangements. He, however, had internal reservations, with no idea if the teenager would love or hate the gift, as he knows the volatility of emotions in that age range all too well, due to recent events. But he knows the actual value of the beast, and that he will shortly be making a very great profit from breeding and spreading them around as couriers and lightweight delivery, so he had kept the course and delivered the mount to Maddie at her birthday.

Jocelyn had ridden the mount into the center of the arena but a thousand feet in the sky, him only approaching the center table silently, raising his hands for quiet as he could not speak with the magic up. His people had quieted, and the signal was dual, as Jocelyn dived down and landed next to Richard in the open area in front of the table, the youths nearby startling and jumping back from the large winged creature. He had simply walked to the table and turned, gesturing to the mount as Jocelyn dismounted, a black harness and saddle on it as it fluffed its bright purple feathers and tossed its head.

Maddie and Jocelyn knew of his curse, and Jocelyn had held out the reins towards her sister, sitting openmouthed and stunned at the table. Maddie had risen slightly, looking to Richard and back at her sister, who smirked at her older sister, lost for words.

"Her name is Trixie," Jocelyn said with a widening smile. "Happy Birthday."

Maddie had hurried around the table quickly, but slowed at a motion from Richard and had approached the mount slowly, as she would a horse. It did not snap and leaned into her hand, then she had leaped at Richard a few moments after as she had turned away with a huge grin on her face, wrapping him in a hug. Richard had smiled in turn, glad she loved the gift and slowly moved from the party of teenagers, glad to have done good on reading his adopted daughter.

The party was not meant for adults, though, and he could not speak during the magic wave, so he had left and gone to the Way to hunt for a few hours, returning before the tech returned. He had reached the gate as the magic crashed, the tech returning to the world, and he swings the burlap sack in front of him, switching the bag of dismembered heads to the opposite shoulder. A demonist cult from a Korean pantheon had been hiding in an alley in the Way, but he had halted their hiding, and will collect the bounties the Rangers had posted.

He stops at the arms room in the building close to the cabin, dropping off the heads and his weapons, the were-wolf on duty logging and making notes as he accepts the Khan's mundane weapons. Richard returns to the cabin and hangs his gladius by the front door as he always does, and the Viking katana near the back door. It is late morning, what would be a normal wake up time for shapeshifters, but he had not slept, and does not plan to, as he needs to work while he can communicate with the tech up. He goes about making hot tea with molasses mixed in for sweetness, as well as bacon and eggs for himself, he had been cut a few times last night in the fight with the demonists and needs the protein and calories.

Tasha and Mischa emerge from the bedroom within a few minutes of the bacon starting to fry, and he throws some more meat on the fryer as Tasha gives him a lingering kiss in the morning light.

"You should have stayed," Tasha says, pouring the hot water for her own tea to steep, the same for Mischa.

"I wasn't in the mood to watch silently as the teens enjoyed their youth," Richard says with a shrug.

"If you'd have stayed another half hour, we would have kept you company," Mischa says with a smirk at him from where she is sitting at the table, Tasha sitting beside her.

"How did the procedure go?" Richard asks after chuckling for a moment.

"Uncomfortable," Mischa says with a slight wriggle. "They squirted in me, and it was… odd."

"Aaaand, thank god I'm not squeamish," Richard says with a chuckle. "Thank you, again. You know we appreciate it."

"We're family," she responds with an easy shake of her head, accepting a plate of bacon and eggs from him, as does Tasha. "We help each other out, it's what we do. And you both know I love you all. I'm honored, you know that."

Richard smiles as Jocelyn walks down the stairs, in her one piece blue pajamas, rubbing her eyes as she sits at the table, Richard placing hamsteak and eggs in front of her as she sits.

"What about French Toast?" she says with a frown at the plate.

"That's not my thing, you know that," he says with a smirk. "When I cook, its meat. Top of the food chain… Apex predator…"

He says the last with a theatrical thrust of the spatula he holds, then blowing on the tip of it like a gun barrel, smirking and winking at the girl, who giggles.

"Good job with the flying, by the way," he says, and reaches out to fist bump the laughing girl, who returns it before going back to her breakfast.

"She fell off on takeoff, did you see?" Jocelyn says with another giggle and grin at Richard as the two women smile at the conversation.

"I did," Richard says with a slow, deliberate nod. "I'm guessing she didn't fasten the thigh straps, as I am _sure_ you told her."

"Well… I may have forgotten," Jocelyn says slowly, focusing on her breakfast again, her smile dimming, but a note of laughter under it.

Richard opens his mouth to respond but the front door opens, and Maddie's scent reaches him fully as she walks into the front of the house. He only turns back to making breakfast and keeping his smile on his face, though it is growingly forced. There is a change in her scent, one he recognizes from other situations, and with an undertone he thinks he knows, but is not sure. He glances over his shoulder at Tasha and Mischa, his face hidden from Jocelyn, and quirks an eyebrow.

Mischa is making a calming hand motion with the hand not holding her tea, as Tasha is looking at where Maddie is walking down the hall. He turns from the table and kitchen, as well as his teenage daughter to concentrate on his food preparation. He tosses more cheese and ham into his five egg omelet, a fan of his cheese, as Maddie walks into the kitchen, Tasha rising from her seat.

"Let's go outside," Tasha says with a smile he can hear in her voice, though he can tell it is an attempt at civility.

Maddie sighs theatrically, and Richard swallows hard and only focuses on his eggs and cheese, stirring it constantly to prevent it from burning.

"I know you know," Maddie says with attitude, frowning at Tasha, the expression clear through both the tone and the scents rolling off of her. "And I don't care what you think of him. I love him."

"Maddie, let's go outside and talk," Tasha says, and he can hear the strain in her voice, and he can sense the quick movement as Maddie jerks from a reassuring gesture from Tasha.

"You can't control my life!" she says angrily, and he can tell it is meant for him, the words directed at his back, his senses better than when he was human, and he has learned how to tell distance and direction with all his senses besides sight.

"We are not trying to control your life," Tasha says soothingly, and he can hear the attempt to control the situation, and he can still feel the anger from Maddie, tension in Mischa and rising as Jocelyn is trying to understand what is going on.

"Maddie, go outside, please," Richard says calmly as he turns from the stove and turns the pan in his hand to put his omelet on his plate. "Let's not make this a scene, okay?"

Maddie growls in frustration as she throws her hands down and storms outside, as only teenagers can do effortlessly. Tasha folds her arms and looks after her pensively while Mischa carefully collects up her tea then follows the girl at a slower pace, the were-lion able to connect with the teen in these moments better than her adoptive parents. Richard sits down at his place at the kitchen table and takes a deep breath slowly, inhaling the steam rising from his omelet, allowing himself a moment to savor the flavors and tastes in his meal. After a full ten seconds of enjoyment, he begins to slowly cut up and eat his breakfast, Tasha sitting at her own meal with a frown on her face.

"You know you just piss her off more when you do that, right?" Tasha asks with a knowing frown at her husband.

"Continuity is key," Richard says with another, shorter, deep breath and continuing eating. "All the books agree and so do the other parents I've talked to. I refuse to be the emotional rollercoaster my mom and dad were."

Tasha frowns tightly, but says nothing, knowing he is right, and that if he were to get emotional, he would likely tear down the house in the process, and maybe kill someone.

"Rick, what were your mom and dad like?" Jocelyn asks from where she is eating her own breakfast, carefully cutting up her thick hamsteak.

Richard slows his chewing as he digests that question and swallows before answering.

"My mother was a good woman, she cared for me and my siblings, but she wasn't very strong, and she made bad decisions," he says slowly and carefully, and the young girl turns from her food at his tone. "My father was not a good man, in any sense of the word. He was a monster, in human form. We were all very happy when he was no longer a part of our lives."

"I'm sorry your dad was mean," Jocelyn says, reaching out a hand after putting her fork down to hold his hand.

"It's over now," he says with a tight smile, looking at her and patting her hand. "And I am not my father. I try very hard to be better than him."

"I think you're a good dad, Rick," Jocelyn says with a smile, turning her attention back to her breakfast.

Richard smiles at her thick auburn hair tied in a loose tail on her back and returns to his own meal, but first speaks in a firm tone.

"Guard," he calls, and a few moments later a were-wolf walks into the back door in a blue t-shirt and black leather vest with weapons.

"Khan," the man in his late twenties says with a duck of his head.

"The Agoge will begin at the start of the next tech wave," he says as he moves eggs into his mouth and speaks around it. "Send word to the Alphas, Mitchell and Alex."

"Yes, khan," the guard says and leaves the kitchen while Jocelyn continues to eat, but Tasha gaining a real frown to her face.

"We were going to wait until the school year was over," she says with a frown at him.

Richard takes a deep breath, frowning tightly across at her, "He needs to prove himself worthy. I can't do nothing. I _can't_. I'll kill him if I don't do something. It's this or far worse, or solo. And we both know I _really_ shouldn't single him out that way."

Tasha flexes her own jaw as she runs through the possibilities, and she scowls now at him, "You planned this, didn't you?"

He takes a deep breath to calm himself, "You know the answer to that. I knew it was a possibility, so I made some plans, just in case."

"What's going on?" Jocelyn asks, confused in the conversations of the last few minutes.

"Joachim wants to prove that he loves Maddie," Richard says before Tasha can says anything. "And Maddie likes him a lot, as well. So, Joachim is going to go through training with all the other young men of the Horde, to prove that they are able to be good warriors, and worthy of the Horde."

Jocelyn furrows her brow in thought, and after a moment says, "I like Joachim, is he going to pass this test?"

"Time will tell," Richard says as he finishes his breakfast, trying to push down the anger at the young wear-bear who has taken the virginity of his teenage daughter.

Mischa walks into the barn, where Maddie is sitting on the door to Trixie's stall, a reinforced steel cage with large slot in the front that the flier's head can fit through. Maddie is straddling the slot, Trixie's head across her lap as she pets the beast's feathered head, its eye facing Mischa staring at her as she approaches. Maddie is frowning hard as she approaches, wearing green sweatpants with a hooded sweatshirt against the winter cold, Christmas only a couple weeks away.

"He pisses me off so much when he acts like that," the teenager says with a frown, flexing her jaw as she tries to calm down, stroking the soft feathers on Trixie's head. "Like he's got everything under control."

"Remember where he comes from, how he was raised," Mischa says, reaching out and stroking the pebbly skin on the flying creature's nose.

"He only hints at it, and if it weren't for Aunt A, I wouldn't know what I know," she replies with a sigh of her own. "I'm not him, or his sisters, and he sure as _hell_ isn't his dad, from what Aunt A says."

"That's kind of the point, though," Mischa says with a look of consternation at the girl. "He's not that way. He compensated by locking down his control, stepping up to be the adult in his family, and taking care of everything, when they had nothing. And he's your father now, even if he's not your blood, and he's trying to take care of you and Jocelyn."

"It's my body, and my decision," Maddie says with a hard frown, looking at Mischa from under lowered brows.

"You are still a minor, so he's still your guardian and responsible for you, Maddie… and about that," Mischa says with a sigh. "I want to be delicate, and I have to ask, because we worry…"

"We used protection," Maddie says with a frown. "We're not stupid and I don't need a baby… I'm not out of high school yet."

"That's good to hear," Mischa says with a nod. "We can talk with Tasha about some other options for managing your cycles, as well. With the tech still here, we can use medicines, and we're working on some magic side stuff, too."

"Why doesn't he like Joachim? That's what I don't get," Maddie says with a frown and look at Mischa. "I know he made some mistakes, but he did his time, the Sochim's have moved on, I don't know why Rick can't see that he's sorry and trying to be better."

Mischa frowns and sighs, looking at her tea for a moment, then setting it on the ground and placing a hand on Maddie's knee, "Before you came to the Horde, before we had panacea, and before Richard really locked down on the training of our people, loupism was a lot more frequent. When someone would turn, even before Richard was Khan, he would kill them, before they hurt anyone."

Maddie blinks a few times with a furrowed brow, mentally digesting that information, opening her mouth, but stopping and closing it as she continues to process the information. As her eyes start to light up with understanding, Mischa speaks up before she can ask the question.

"The night Richard proposed to Tasha, asking her to marry him, the teenagers were having a party outside, and Lindsey Sochim went loup," Mischa says, her words measured and heavy. "Richard was on the spot within moments and kept her from seriously hurting anyone and rendering her unconscious. But she was lost, and he had to kill her, while she slept."

Maddie blinks numerous times, shaking her head, "But wasn't Pelos still Pack Lord? Shouldn't he have done it, as the Alpha of the Pack?"

"Should have? We all think so now, but then, things were different, and though we didn't realize it, Richard had already started to take over the Pack," Mischa says with a tight smile and twist of her head. "Richard did that, because it had to be done, and he _can't_ back away from a responsibility… and Joachim was the reason he had to kill that girl."

There's a long moment of silence as Maddie continues to process that, and Mischa continues in a soft tone, "I think you and Jocelyn remind him of her, and the others he couldn't save, that we all lost, sons and daughters we lost. And he had to watch every one when they passed, so the memory of every single one is in his head. So when something threatens you, whether it's physically or emotionally, he tries to protect you. And Joachim is responsible for the loss of one of those children he had to send on, so he's got a big strike against him."

Maddie frowns tightly, "Now I'm wondering how Rick hasn't killed him."

"You said it already," Mischa says with a tight smile, shaking her head. "He's not his father, and he works very hard to not be like him in any way, shape or form. I am certain nothing would make him feel better than to vent his rage on your boyfriend, but he knows that's not the right answer, so he's doing the best he can."

Mischa turns her head and raises a hand to Maddie as a guard walks into the barn tentatively, "Alpha."

"Yes," Mischa says, glancing at him with a frown.

"The khan has sent word, the Agoge begins at the start of the next tech wave," he says.

"Let Mitchell know, and spread the word," she says, and the guard bows shallowly, then leaves.

"I thought he was waiting until summer," Maddie says, then her eyes go wide. "Oh… the bastard…"

"You said it yourself," Mischa says with a half smile. "He hasn't killed him, this is a better option, though."

"I don't need to be protected," Maddie says with a frown. "I'm not some delicate flower."

"Richard is a father," Mischa says with a lighter smile. "He's always going to see you as his daughter, right or wrong, and he's always going to be there to help you if he can. And this is his way of testing him, to see if he's worthy of his daughter."

Maddie frowns as a thought strikes her, "He's had me and Jocelyn taking Kung Fu with the Xiangs, and he said that it's because he won't always be there, and he wants us to be strong, to not be victims, like his dad failed to do for him and his siblings."

Mischa raises an eyebrow in understanding, then opens her mouth to speak.

Before she can say anything Maddie pleads with big begging eyes, "Please."

Richard looks down at the assembled formation of teenagers and adults below him, standing on the platform on the barn in his human form with full armor and weapons. The accents of the armor glint slightly in the sunlight, the silver and gold shaped into forms of tigers, dragons, fire and ice on the plates of armor in intricate designs. Those wishing to participate in the Agoge had arrived three hours ago, checked in with security, gone through screenings and checklists to make sure all the prep work they needed to participate were in order. Over a dozen had been turned away, physical exams incomplete or packing lists wrong, or approved leave from work missing, or some other item wrong on the checklist.

Richard is pulling memories from his own time in the Army as he looks down at his trainers that he had run through a smaller version of this, having run it personally. Now his approved and trained people are the cadre running the new tryouts who want to be part of the elite of the Horde. His memory dredges up his own time at Ranger Indoctrination before joining the Regiment, and his own four months at Ranger School, having had to do Mountain phase twice, as he got peered out for being a quiet guy the first time. Now he watches as the hopefuls of the Horde stand to be judged and trained by the chosen elite of the Khan to join their ranks in time.

"This seems unnecessarily cruel," Autumn says from behind him, holding the Staff of Babylon to the side as she frowns down at the formation that is standing alert and ready as the trainers shift through their bags to ensure they brought everything on the lists.

Richard smirks, recalling memories from his early days in the army, "A civilian, unused to the trials and tribulations of war, looks upon the training to prepare young men for combat, and thinks… cruelty. A veteran of those wars looks back and wishes that his trainers had been far harsher in the treatment of their charges."

Autumn is silent as she furrows her brow in thought, shifting her staff to her left hand, then frowns at Richard, "Is that Shakespeare? I don't recognize it."

"I just made it up, now," Richard says, his eyes searching the square formation of about eighty young men and women below him who are trying for the Agoge. "But it's a thought that's been in my head for a long time. I figure I'll lose half, or more, I hope."

"You hope?" Autumn says with a raised brow, though she knows he cannot see it, but somehow senses it.

"If it were easy, everyone would have it, everyone would be a member," Richard says with an absent shrug. "We're going to starve them, deprive them of sleep, demand constant movement and exertion, and break them down to their bare components. And when they are totally spent and can't do any more, we'll make them the leader, and see if they sink or swim."

Autumn is shaking her head, "There are better ways to teach them about leadership and surviving."

"No, there isn't," Mitchell says from where he is ascending the 4x4 timbers on the side of the barn. "When you strip a person of everything, that is when character is revealed, when they show you who they really are. We are not here to coddle them and baby them, we are here to make them the best warriors the world has ever seen."

"I call it the Agoge for a reason, sis," Richard says softly as she glares at Mitchell, the one running the program, as Richard is not able to speak at all times effectively. "Three hundred Spartan warriors stopped a Persian force of over two hundred thousand for three days and nights, killing an estimated twenty thousand or more in the battle. The only reason they lost was because they got flanked from the side. If they hadn't, they would likely have held out for ten to fifteen days, and in the three days they held, they killed over twenty thousand of their enemies. That is the culture I am trying to build."

Autumn shakes her head and steps closer to him, her voice low to try and keep it private, "You're a father, Rich. You want your daughters in this?"

Richard moves from where he looks at the formation below, and turns to her stepping close. He has his katana on his hip, quiver of arrows on his back, bow in his hand and gladius beside his quiver, other blades on his person around his armor. He steps to his sister, who takes a step back at his dominant and overbearing presence, but he leans in and fixes her with a solid gaze at only inches away from her own eyes.

"The world is a hard and cruel place, sister," he says, and she can hear his emotion beneath it, held in check. "I don't want them to be victims, as our parents forged us to be. I want them to rise up and be victorious over _anyone_ who would see them at anything other than at their greatest potential."

Autumn swallows on a dry throat, her mind telling her a predator is staring at her, though her rational mind is saying it is her brother, and her rational mind losing. She is frozen in subconscious terror for a moment until Richard leans back from her and turns away, looking again at the formation below.

"I can't change the world, sis," he says without looking back, knowing the reaction he caused in her, and sorry for it. "But I can try to forge a better, safer one for my children, and for our future. I can try and make sure that if they are confronted with challenges and difficulties, then they are suited to meet them and win. Better than our parents ever did."

Autumn swallows on the moisture she has gathered in her mouth, her heart hammering fast in her chest. She refuses to move from her place though, to shrink from him, though the animal part of her mind tells her she should. Instead, she takes a few deep breaths and walks up to Richard and wraps an arm around his left arm which holds the bow, sighing theatrically.

"Brother, dear, you need to relax, this is not good for your blood pressure," she says in an off-hand tone, trying to lighten the mood.

Richard chuckles, shifting his bow to his right hand then wrapping his left arm around her and hugging her to his side.

"Thank you," he says in a barely audible murmur as his eyes continue to look at the Agoge candidates below.

"I'm your sister, I won't quit on you," Autumn says with a squeeze of her own, looking down at the formation as well. "Though I reserve the right to hit you, later, if you deserve it."

Richard watches alone from the platform on the barn, Autumn having left and Mitchell below supervising as other instructors are having the candidates pack their framed backpacks and arrange the gear on the tactical vests they had been issued. They all wear cargo pants in olive drab green with gray patches mixed in for camouflage, cheap and light stitching, in case they have to shift forms. They have a pack on an iron frame, bare necessities packed into it, and a vest of leather and kevlar held together with twine in the same green/gray pattern. They have all been given a gladius and a tomahawk from the Bastion's stores, standard issue, and Richard steps off the platform as they finish their initial inspection.

He lands on bent knees on the packed dirt and grass, bow slung over his back and his hands free as he walks down the ranks of teenagers and untested adults that want to earn his approval. Joachim is in the first rank, and he does not spare the teenager a second glance as he walks past, down the file and then down the next. He only looks and mentally categorizes what he sees to tell Mitchell later for correction or improvement. He pauses in the third of four ranks, however, in front of a short candidate with brown hair cut to an inch long and with a defiant expression in her eyes as she looks forward, past him.

Richard reaches over and pulls the gladius from the girl's scabbard, then pulls his own gladius from his back. He looks at his blade, then hers, then slides his gladius into her sheath, walking on without looking back, Maddie squaring her shoulders just a bit more afterwards. He walks past the last of the formation, then to the front, turning slowly and looking at the group, sheathing the gladius without looking.

"Everyone take a knee," he says in a firm tone, and all the candidates drop to a knee beside where their pack is to their right, all with a clear sight to him.

He looks at them all, seventy eight total, letting the silence hold them for a long moment before speaking.

"I have no need to impress you, or show you who I am and what I have accomplished," he says in a normal tone, the enhanced hearing of the shapeshifters hearing his words easily in the night. "I am the Khan, and you all know what I have done since I came to the Pack, the Horde, and most of what I did before."

All eyes are on him, ears straining and with four instructors standing to the sides and back listening as well.

"You've heard rumors, stories, that the magic will one day rule the world, that the tech will not return for millennia," he says as he looks around and walks back and forth in front of the formation, his left hand resting easily on his katana's hilt. "The last time the world shifted, those who could take the shape of animals were deemed monsters, things less than human, creatures to fear in the night and darkness."

He pauses, turning at one side of the formation, "I have told the Alphas, and other Packs in the country, that we will be different this time. And we are building that future now, this is the foundation…" he smirks as he trails off. "But you don't care about that future right now, you only care about not looking weak or stupid, and succeeding in the Agoge. But you have no idea what is in store for you, the challenges and heights to which you must rise in order to succeed."

He pauses again, his tone rising and falling in and out of cadence, accenting his words and tones to keep their attention and their expressions rapt as he speaks to them, "This will be the hardest thing you have ever done in your entire lives… I guaran _tee_ that. And there is a reason for that. This is the first Agoge, this is the foundation for every one after, for years, _generations_ , to come. In a thousand years, a millennia, there will be young shapeshifters looking back at what you will do and thinking of the legacy you have left behind… the legend."

Richard lets that last word sink in as he gazes intently at the formation, each one looking back at him with varying expressions on their faces.

"The unwritten myths and legends of _generations_ lies before you, the weight of their admiration and scrutiny," Richard says in a harder tone. "Do not shrink from it, do not cower or bow below the weight of that responsibility, to set the highest standard imaginable. Do… not… _fail_ …"

The last words drop hard into the evening silence like stones in a pond, final, demanding. He looks around with hard eyes at those before him, his inner self flinching as he sweeps past Maddie, but forcing himself to continue on.

"But a journey of a thousand years, of a million miles, begins with a single step," Richard says with a glance and gesture to the side, Mitchell and the other instructors moving forward with sacks in hand. "And we are going to bring you to that first step, to start you on the path of the Agoge, and to deem yourselves worthy of myth and legend."

Joachim is not afraid of the dark, having crept around in it often enough growing up, and sneaking in it as he grew older. His siblings, growing up, had been scared and terrified of the stories their mother had told them of monsters and creatures of the dark, but Joachim never feared. When he had gotten older, the dark held no terrors for him, just interesting sounds and scents, another world under the world of light. He moved softly and silently in the night, like a blanket, which astounded friends and family, to find he was a black bear and not a cat with his silence.

So when Mitchell and the other instructors had placed thick black sacks over the candidates' heads he had not panicked, but had taken a breath and used his ears and nose to tell him what was going on. He and the others were led away, down a dirt path through the main gates, then through the surrounding woods. He had lost his direction, but they had walked for a good twenty minutes, then waited in a line, he could hear shuffling, as one by one those in front of him were taken somewhere.

Finally, there is no one in front of him and they come for him, two of the instructors take his elbows and lead him to a set of logs, formed into a rough ladder.

"Climb, someone will be at the top," Mitchell says simply, and Joachim blindly reaches up and starts to climb up the rough log ladder to where he knows not, the cloth too heavy to see through and his nose muffled.

He climbs and climbs, counting the rungs, each about two feet away from each other, and is amazed when he does not stop until he is at four hundred rungs. A hand touches his as it grabs the next rung, and he faintly recognizes the khan's scent as he is guided to his feet, and he can feel the breeze as he is moved slowly forward and halted. After a pause, the hood is removed, and the night lights hit his eyes in a haze initially, he blinks to gain his awareness of his surrounding, and is immediately hit with a sense of vertigo.

He is standing fifty yards over a pit of solid fire, looking like a solid wall of flames below, roaring faintly at this distance. He's on a log platform covered in planks with the khan beside him holding his elbow, the ladder behind them and at an angle, probably why he had gotten the distance wrong. Reaching out from the platform is a short plank, five feet long and four inches thick, six inches wide, leading to nothing.

"Go out on the plank, and step off," Richard says firmly. "No questions. Go."

Joachim takes a breath as the grip on his elbow is released, swallowing and stepping forward, the smell of Maddie's hair in his mind over the smell of burnt air. He shuffles forward on the board to the edge, looking at the flames below, a circle of fire a hundred yards across, impossible for him to jump, much less step over. He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them and steps into nothingness, his heart racing as he falls into the flames. The fire races up and his beast inside rages but he grits his teeth and keeps his composure as he falls through the wall of flames… and into nothingness. After a few moments of cool air, no more than a second or two, he hits the water below him hard.

He feels pain in his leg where he had struck, twisted but not broken, he thinks, and he pushes and struggles for the surface, his air short as not prepared for the plunge. He breaks the surface after only taking a few gulps of water in his lungs, gasping for air as he rises up, and he paddles to stay afloat with the weight he carries. A hand grabs the back of his vest and drags him to the side, and he grabs the side of a boat with two instructors in it, waiting to pull him out of the water. He hacks and coughs as the instructors start paddling, and one mutters to the other.

"It's the kid," he says in a murmur.

"Hey, kid," the other instructor says, Joachim recognizes him as one of the khan's personal security guys, Will, he thinks.

"Yes, sir," he coughs out, trying to look up.

"If you fuck up, you know you're going to have to move either to Alaska or to another continent, right?" the were-leopard says, looking down at him while rowing.

Joachim coughs the last of the water out, "I'm not quitting, sir."

Will looks at him hard, his blue eyes piercing, and he turns away with a blank expression, "We'll see, kid, we'll see."

Richard walks into the back door of the cabin, the magic in control of the world, and having just left the candidates. He walks in as Tasha walks from the front room, a worried look on her face, a notepad in hand as she walks to him.

"Maddie's missing," Tasha says with a worried look. "She went to school this morning, but I haven't seen her since. Nita hasn't seen her and I'm worried after the other day."

Richard pauses for a long moment, frowning hard as he thinks, slowly moves the paper and writes three words on the paper, then hands it to Tasha, walking to the bedroom. _Talk to Mischa_.

"You let her _what_?" Tasha nearly snarls at the other woman, both on the platform of the barn, looking at where the Agoge candidates had been in formation a few hours earlier.

"If she fails, she tries next year or later," Mischa reasons. "And she realizes why the Agoge got pushed up, as well as what it means, really means. But she wants to prove herself to him, too, just like the others. _More,_ to be honest."

Tasha rubs her face fiercely in the dawn light, calming herself, "I'm really angry right now. And as mad as I am, I am incapable of being empathetic with anyone, right now. You, or…"

She trails off, clenching her jaw as she thinks of the Agoge candidates, "I mean, fuck, he didn't find out until she was in formation with the rest. So he watched it all, and couldn't say anything, or he looks like a protective dick father, and has a double standard, and… shit!"

She nearly roars the last, her eyes clenched as she throws her hands down, now tense and breathing deep against the anger in her, as she thinks of what her mate had gone through earlier today. She breathes deep and counts to ten to calm herself, but continues to fifty before she can speak again.

"He looked calm when I saw him, so he's probably angry beyond measure, and he's completely in Khan mode, so he's going to be distant and difficult, and when he's not actively engaged, he'll be at the Way, killing something," she says with deep breaths, trying to think through what is going on now.

"And he's not going to be happy with me," Mischa says with an accepting nod. "I know that, it's one of the reasons I didn't tell either of you. He won't be mad at you, but me. I don't want him to be angry with what I've let her do. But it is her choice, he gave it to all of them, their age."

Tasha takes another deep breath, the anger and tension easing, "In honesty, he won't be mad at you. He's mad at himself, for not being able to bridge the gap and be the one to help her make this choice, for not making it easier. He'll beat himself over it, and forgive you in a heartbeat. His issue will be if she doesn't pass, he'll blame himself, for not preparing her, and the funk she'll be in after."

Mischa rubs her face with a hand, taking a breath and thinking before speaking, "Dammit. He's going to be distant."

"I think he'll bounce back faster, but I'm going to talk with Autumn, I know she's made progress on the curse, and we need it off of him so he can pass through this faster," Tasha says with a shake of her head. "He does not need an excuse to be silent for half the day, every day. He'll do that normally, we need to be able to pull him out of it."

"You're not mad at me?" Mischa says tentatively after a moment.

"No," Tasha says with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Maddie is a teen, but she's allowed to choose this. To be honest, I wonder if a part of Richard knew this was a possibility, and he might have mentally prepared for it. This is as normal as it can be for us, I think, raising a family."

"I'm sorry," Mischa says with a shrug.

"Well, he's in bed now," Tasha says, turning to the other woman. "Let's go ambush him, make sure he understands everything is okay."

"He can't talk," Mischa says with a frown, not understanding.

Tasha smiles mischievously, "I know. I don't really plan on talking. Actions do speak louder than words."

Autumn frowns as she sits in her shop in north Houston, going through the steps to get the store ready to receive customers. Richard had sped up the start of the Agoge, she had known that, but had not realized how much, and now she knows why. Plus the added issue that Maddie had managed to get into the class before Richard knew, and now she is in the training and testing as well. Her mind is drifting as she flips the sign on the front door and unlocks it, then walking back to the counter where water is coming to a boil.

A small stream of patrons walk into the shop, four of her regulars, local witches and warlocks that practice from different pantheons, but that enjoy coming for morning tea when she opens. They are not big spenders, but they are regulars and they share gossip with each other on what they have found and what they know. She glances at the last one that enters the shop and mentally sighs as she pulls out the teas for the customers, knowing what each prefers, and setting each sachet in a mug before pouring the hot water over it. The four magic users are sitting in the front corner of the moderately sized shop, a barrel cut in half with a tabletop on it, chatting among each other as they wait. Within a few minutes, Autumn is walking over with a tray carrying the mugs of tea, setting each one's in front of the appropriate customer with a greeting.

"My stock boy called in yesterday, said he had to take a leave of absence," the woman who is a practicing draconic witch says as she pulls on the tea bag and taking it out, preferring a weaker tea. "Said he hoped he wouldn't be back for four months, something to do with the Horde in town."

"Same down at the mill," another witch says, this one Welsh. "Had five of our workers take leaves of absence, all shapeshifters."

The magic users are giving Autumn furtive glances over the rims of their mugs, knowing that she knows what is going on, and she sighs as she blows on her own tea.

"You know I can't talk about the Horde," she says with a sigh, taking a sip. "He's my brother, and I promised to keep secrets just like any other member."

"But you're not a member," one of the men says, a burly and dark haired man that practices a Germanic craft derived from the faery of central Europe.

"Leave her be," the last one says, a long haired and bearded man in light gray robes and a long staff leaning on his chair, the leader of the Russian White Vohls, Stanaslov Milovsky. "You're asking her to break a promise to family. Would you be willing to do the same, over the simple annoyance of repetitive questions?"

The others have the good sense to look a touch ashamed, and Autumn smiles a bit into her tea with a grateful glance at Stanaslov. The group continues to chat for some time until Autumn has to tend the counter for some other customers that have come in. It is late morning, nearly noon, when Atticus arrives to man the counter while she gets lunch. She is removing her work apron as Stanaslov approaches the counter again, having left the last two of the regulars still at the table sitting.

"Atticus can help you," Autumn says with a gesture to the other end of the counter.

"I was actually hoping to talk with you," Stanaslov says with a smile.

Autumn sighs a bit, "Stanaslov, you are a customer, I am not interested in having dinner with you."

"If I stop coming, will you join me for dinner?" he asks directly, them having had the indirect dance now for a few months.

She sighs with a light chuckle at his directness, "Then I would lose your business, and that of your family, not a beneficial arrangement."

"The family will continue to come, I promise," he says with a grin of his own, glad to have cracked her shell. "Your herbs are top quality, as are your rune-crafts and materials. I didn't come here just because of your pretty face."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she says with a shake of her head, though she feels a slight flutter at the compliment, walking around the counter towards the door.

"How about something less auspicious, then?" he asks, walking with her to the door. "A short lunch, since you have to return."

Autumn frowns in thought as she slows by the door, turning to him, then nodding, "Okay, lunch. The deli down the street has a great tuna sandwich."

Richard lies in bed, Tasha and Mischa both curled into his sides as he stares at the ceiling, his mind floating from thought to thought. He had tried to just go to sleep, but neither of the Alpha females had agreed with that idea, and they had been active for quite a while. He had slept, had good dreams, pleasant rest and now he is wide awake and trying to figure out his future. Tasha's hand flexes, her nails scratching his chest and he inhales sharply.

"You're thinking too hard," she murmurs. "You woke me up, it's so loud."

He chuckles and leans down, kissing her head, "Sorry, love. Tech's back, and I'm thinking on the meetings I need to have to double check the training for the Agoge and on the Eastern Expansion."

"Are you still calling it that?" Mischa says sleepily from his other side, pulling a pillow away and curling away to go back to sleep. "It sounds stupid."

Richard half smiles tightly and pulls the pillow away from her, "You owe me an apology."

Misha half growls, half sighs, "She would have done something stupid if I hadn't helped."

"Right, her joining in the hardest, most intense, painful and draining training to exist in two _thousand_ years is not something stupid?" he asks with a hard frown at her.

"She'd have run away, or tried to get in without help, you would have confronted her and either ruined your image or she would have failed and made us look bad for not setting her up for success," Mischa says, having rolled on her back and talking to the ceiling. "I'll bet you breakfast you didn't break stride when you saw her or scented her, just walked on by and treated her like another candidate. Bet?"

"Bet," Tasha says with a twist of her head. "You had a regular gladius in your sheath last night. Where's the _meifl_?"

Richard frowns, "I didn't even look at her, I stopped in front of her, and without a word or glance, took her gladius from her and gave her mine."

Tasha rolls over and kisses his chest, and Mischa turns her head to look at him, "You just yelled at me, and you gave her your blessing in front of everyone?"

"What was I going to do, pull her out?" he asks with a tight frown. "I can't think of any good outcomes from that. Not one. And she didn't hesitate or flinch when she stepped out into the fire, only four others were that dedicated."

"How did Joachim do?" Mischa asks, shifting to her side to look at him.

"Fair," Richard says with a frown. "He shuffled out on the board, hesitated for a heartbeat and stepped out. He was scared, but didn't quit. We'll see."

"How many balked?" Tasha asks, thinking.

"Nine," he says with a frown of distaste. "We're down to sixty nine."

Mischa snorts, then covers her mouth, "Sorry."

"Well, I hope you're ready for light duty," Richard says with a mock scowl at Mischa.

"What?" she says, tilting back her dark haired head to look at him and Tasha, who are both looking at her intensely.

"Chances are good you have our child in you," Tasha says clearly. "You are not going to be going on guard duty, or anywhere near a possible fight for a while."

"You're fucking kidding me," Mischa says with baleful eyes at her friends. "I'm a were-lion Alpha, I can handle my own."

"But you won't have to, because you'll have double guard escorts, to make sure," Richard says, and holds up a hand before she replies angrily. "We already lost two, Mischa, and I know we're being a bit over protective, and maybe it's unnecessary, but better safe than sorry. Please, just go with us on this, okay?"

Mischa clenches her jaw a few times then sighs and lies down on Richard's chest, "Fine. Only because I know and understand what _we_ went through last time."

Richard only nods at her emphasis that it was all of them that suffered from the attack on the Mansion, and holds the two women gently as his mind drifts on other plans.

Autumn looks down at the cauldron in front of her, disgruntled at the results of her divination, again. Since Mischa had undergone the procedure for the pregnancy, she has tried three times to divine the number of children Richard has. She has done the casting before, and with the hair he had given her, the reference is strong and not to be misunderstood or misread. This is the first time doing it for him, but it is a good spell for finding out quickly if fertility is successful or not. Her reading, however, is telling her that Richard has four children, and that is wrong, unless the spell counts Maddie and Jocelyn _and_ Mischa's carrying twins. But the spell cannot account for adopted children, it simply will not, it is impossible, and it has not done it any other time she has cast it.

So, she is now taking a Sherlock Holmes (or Spock, depending on your canon, or both if you are in depth enough on it…) approach to the issue as she moves and sits at her shop's back table overlooking the store absently as she sips her tea. If she removes the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the answer. Therefore, Mischa must be carrying four babies, which will cause complications during pregnancy and delivery, unless she is missing something…

The door to the shop opens, ringing the small bells hanging over it, and she is pulled from her thoughts. She sets down the tea and walks towards the front to greet her customer, but slows and stares at the young man who had entered. A young man, probably seventeen years old, thin and wiry but corded with lean muscle, dark brown hair grown out and pulled back behind his head in a short queue. The unshaved face sports a short, wispy beard in familiar lines with low brows over greenish eyes and features that are unmistakable to her.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the youth says as he steps into the shop and looks around. He stands five and a half feet tall, taller than her and just a hair shorter than Richard is, wearing jeans, t-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt with a cloak. He has a longsword on his hip and an old, simple short bow unstrung on his back with a quiver of cheap wooden arrows. "I'm looking for Autumn O'Connell. I was told she owns this shop."

Autumn swallows on a dry mouth as she looks at the youth, his looks and appearance shaking her, and his voice as well. She asks him the only thing that can come to mind while mentally reminding herself that she does _not_ believe in time travel, even if she enjoys Dr. Who.

"What is your name?" she asks, blinking as she stares at him from a few yards away.

"Anthony Hessberg," he says with a frown at her. "I'm looking for my father."

Richard is sitting in the deserted ball room at the Mansion, at a grand piano he had moved in a few months ago, when he had been struck with the Curse of Babylon. During the magic waves, when he does not want to hunt the Pegasus Way, and is up to date on reading reports and summaries, he comes here. The Mansion has been deserted as a place of the Horde for months, since almost the Tank Wedding, as he mentally tags it. Between it being Pelos' house where he had committed Regicide on his wife and where his unborn children had died in Tasha's womb, it is not a place of fond memories.

Weeds have reclaimed the lawns, wildlife the bushes and branches, the main hall still torn and strewn with wreckage from the battle. Birds nest in the rafters and rooms where Pelos had lived, and Richard comes here to practice the piano. He pulled the box hidden under some floorboards with pages of music, and set them up on the piano, dirty and ugly, but tuned perfectly as it remains covered when he is not here. He is working on Bach, now, and he is finding that the touch matters greatly as he plays, it cannot be a mechanical process, but he has to adjust his mood to make his touch sound right.

He is playing at two thirds speed, focusing on his touch as he plays to make the melody sound right when a scent reaches him from upwind. He continues to play, the scent familiar and unthreatening, and he blocks his mind from parsing the differing undertones. He continues to play as he hears the light scrabbling over the ruins of the front door, and the steps over the shattered wood of the hall and the weight on the floor boards in the hall itself. He closes his eyes as he leans back slightly and plays the remainder of the song from memory, speeding up slightly, but remaining below the intended speed for the song, making it sound stately and whimsical at the same time.

As the last notes drift away, slow, short clapping comes from his visitor as she walks up to where he sits in jeans and t-shirt, vest and cloak sitting next to him on the bench. He closes the cover for the keys and stands as he glances at where Autumn is walking up to him, shaking her head as she claps.

"I didn't know you could play," she says with a tight smile, and he can sense something off in her tone, her posture.

He stops from moving to the cover for the piano, his expression excessively puzzled with a quirk of his head, a question, as the magic is up and he cannot talk properly.

"The piano," she says with a gesture to the instrument in the center of the wide open floor of the deserted hall. "I knew you played guitar and banjo, and were working on violin, but not piano."

Richard raises a finger and shakes it slowly back and forth, then quirks his head a bit more theatrically while waving in the distance with a quirked eyebrow. _What is it? Something else?_

Autumn sighs, running a hand over her head as she walks to the bench and sits, patting the other end for him to sit. He usually does not take direction or orders, but he sits, concerned, as she is obviously tense and worried herself over something.

"You know I've been trying find out how many babies Mischa is carrying, through magic?" she asks, pulling a small black plate and chalk from her bag over her shoulder, and handing it to him. "I know, for a certainty, that you have four children, as of today."

Richard stares at her for a moment as he digests that, then scribbles on the plate, the size of a normal sheet of paper. _Maddie and Jocelyn? Twins?_

"No," she says with a tight smile. "Four biological children, including the triplets in Mischa."

He blinks slowly, thinking hard, but frowning and furrowing his brow, shaking his head, then scribbling on the plate. _I have no kids. Not before Houston._

She sighs and swallows tensely, "Do you remember a girl named Misty Johnson?"

Richard stares at her, his expression blank, and after nearly a minute he stands up, leaving the plate on the bench as he walks to the open door of the hall to the outside. He has his hands on the top of his head as he is clenching and unclenching his jaw, his mind racing. He roars incoherently as he punches the solid oak doorframe, sending splinters into the night, the half-moon high in the sky.

He takes a deep breath as the frame shifts and settles, his hands on his head again as he keeps his inner beast under control. Joachim broaching his daughter, Maddie joining the Agoge, Mischa pregnant with three of his and Tasha's children, the Louisiana Expansion, and now it turns out he has an illegitimate child he never knew about. He takes another deep breath as he closes his eyes against the night life that is slowly resuming after his sudden outburst, seeking his inner calm. After a count of thirty, he turns from the tilted doorframe and walks back to where Autumn is waiting patiently with a concerned look on her face.

He picks up the slate, wiping away the previous words, then writing a question. _I was unaware. Can you find him/her?_

Autumn reads the plate, pulling her lips in to lick them, blinking hard not to cry as she reads his statement, knowing the sincerity in them. She sets the plate aside and pulls another from her pack to a puzzled look from Richard as she hands it to him.

"He walked into my shop today," she says simply with a deep breath as she looks at him levelly.

Richard looks to the side, trying to process the information, focusing on this issue alone and nothing else. She would not have left him running around, he is probably at her place, and the other assumptions he knows about his sister falling into place. He turns back to the plate and writes before showing her. _17? Mom's status? Description?_

She nods, "He is, and looks almost exactly like you did, but a bit shorter and with darker hair. He has a short beard now, and hair a foot long. His mom died a few months ago, and she told him on her deathbed that she recognized a picture of his father from the newspaper a few months back. That led him to you and me."

Richard takes another breath, wiping the words away and writing again. _Fighter? Mage? Follower/Leader?_

Autumn takes a deep breath as she wipes away the words, then reaches over and takes his hands in hers, "I can't tell you that. He's your son. You need to find out for yourself. But I can see you in him, even if he's never met you or knew you existed."

"Donde?" he asks, a Spanish word coming from his lips though he had tried to speak English.

"He's waiting at the ship outside the Bastion," she says as she squeezes his hands. "I went there with him to introduce you, and when you weren't there, I put him there to wait for us, so I could explain things."

Richard takes a breath, then stands and begins to don his vest, then spinning his cloak on his back, his katana and kurki the only large weapons with him, supplemented by daggers and knives. He strides out the crooked door of the hall with Autumn behind him, walking to where her horse is tied up out front.

Anthony sits on the side rail of the ship sitting outside the fort full of shapeshifters, uneasy as he looks up at the dried out skeleton hung up on the mast. He has had very little interaction with shapeshifters, having met a couple at school, but that is it, and not sure he is comfortable with the idea of his biological father being a monster. The only reason he had sought him out was that his mom had told him he was a stand-up guy when she knew him, and he was a human for most of his life.

He turns and places a hand on his sword hilt while rising, a noise from the front of the ship grabbing his attention. He pauses and watches the dark of the night, his eyes looking for motion, not detail, as he does not have enhanced senses. He watches as a form comes over the rail at the front of the ship, and blinks as he sees a young girl, ten or twelve years old in a pink shirt and jeans, barefoot. The girl pauses and stares at him in turn, her eyes seeming to glow in the night as she looks at him, surprised. Anthony eases his stance and lowers his hand from his sword, standing straight before the brown haired girl.

"Hello," the girl says, relaxing in turn and tilting her head. "Are you here for the Horde? Or are you lost?"

"I'm waiting," he answers, not sure how to answer, turning and sitting again. "My Aunt, apparently, said to wait here."

"Oh," the girl says, walking on silent toes to the rail across from him and sitting on the bench meant for rowers and facing him, sitting cross legged while she looks at him. "My name's Jocelyn. What's your name?"

"Anthony," he says with a nod and smile at the girl's politeness. "But you can call me Tony. Only my mom calls me Anthony… called, I mean."

He frowns with the last, and the girl frowns in sympathy, "My mom and dad died. I know it can be hard."

Anthony nods slowly, then blinks and looks at the girl, "You said your name is Jocelyn, are you the Khan's daughter?"

She sighs theatrically and looks to the sky, "Yes, he's my dad, now."

Anthony licks his lips apprehensively, but leans forward, "Can you tell me what he's like?"

Jocelyn tilts her head and studies him from five yards away, "You look familiar. Do I know you?"

"No," Tony says, shaking his head. "I was born and raised in a town not far from Atlanta. Thought my dad died while in the Army. My mom just passed away a few months ago."

Jocelyn is peering at him with focused eyes, "You look like Rick. Your eyes, especially."

"Who is Rick?" Tony asks, curious.

"He's the khan," Jocelyn says with a 'no duh' expression at him. "Richard Michaels, the Khan of the Texas Horde?"

"Oh…" Tony says dumbly, blinking at the realization, his mind making the connections of other stories he's heard to connect to this.

"You didn't know," Jocelyn says, her eyes narrowing with a smile. "You're here for him. Why?"

Tony takes a breath, shaking his head, "Tell me about him. Is he a good guy? An asshole? Or just focused on money and power?"

Jocelyn smirks at him from across the ship, tilting her head to the side, "Rick is my dad, because he chose to be. Because he couldn't let me and my sister be raised by strangers. I loved my parents and I miss them, a lot… but they're gone, and I'm glad that Rick and Tasha are my parents now."

Tony nods absently at that, then looks at the young girl again, realizing she has been blooded and is not a child but nearly an adult already.

"Then tell me about your family, your sister and your adopted parents," he says in a soft tone, a request and not a demand.

The magic wave had been short this time, and less than a mile from the Bastion tech rules the world, and Richard is grateful beyond measure. Autumn rides up to the ship on her horse as he slows to a walk and waits, she will whistle when it is okay for him to come up. He stands anxiously below the side of the ship, trying not to preconceive, and his attention is caught by the scent of Jocelyn. He parses the scent, recognizing the details, that she has been here for a couple hours now, with the other scent, a human male, young. A soft whistle pierces the night and he jumps up the ten feet to the rail, landing silently on the hard wood, his black canvas and black rubber Chuck Taylor shoes blending in the shadows.

Autumn is standing next to a young man, seventeen or so, and it is like being punched in the gut while looking in a mirror from nearly twenty years ago. He stands and stares for a moment, the young man next to Autumn doing the same as they both simply gaze at the other. He steps forward off the rail and benches to the deck and walks across to the slightly shorter young man.

"My name, years ago, was Anthony Hessberg," he says evenly as he walks slowly to the late teen, eyes narrow with calculation. "I had a girlfriend before I went to Ranger School, and while I was there, she told me she had aborted the child we had together, and that she couldn't be with me anymore. When I reached out, she pushed me away, and I let her go, thinking she was lost to me."

Richard is now arm length away from the young man, and their eyes are locked as they stand off with each other.

"I didn't know I had a son," Richard says quietly after a pause, which the teen has said nothing but parsed the words he had said already. "I am sorry I was not there. I hope that you will stay, and we can talk, and I can try to be a father, to you."

The young man has a furrowed brow, studying Richard critically, then licks his lips nervously with a glance at Autumn, then to the other end of the ship where Jocelyn sits on a rail. He turns back to Richard and stands straight and squares his shoulders as he looks levelly at Richard on eye level.

"My name is Anthony Hessberg, my mother named me after my father, who she said died while serving in the Rangers," he says with squared shoulders, looking Richard in the eye. "She told me on her deathbed that he was actually alive, and I came to find my father…"

His face softens slightly as he speaks of his mother, and Richard interjects before he can continue.

"She was a good woman, from what I remember," he says gently. "I had a bad childhood, and if Autumn spoke to you, you know that," he gestures to her. "I work hard not to be the man my father was, and to do everything I can to be a good man. When I met your mother, I wanted to protect others, and she helped keep me grounded, when I needed it, when I was adrift in the Army and new to the world. She helped me push myself, and try out for the Rangers."

The younger man nods anxiously, "Mom said something like that. That it wasn't your fault. That you needed to be free, to be happy."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Richard repeats, reaching out a hand.

The young man looks at the hand tentatively, and takes it, and Richard awkwardly takes him into a hug, holding the son he did not know he had tight, fighting not to cry.

Tasha is sitting at the dining room table alone, sipping tea as she reads over the financial reports from Hoffman Resources. Richard will be leaving town soon on the Louisiana Expansion, and she needs to catch up on the financial side before he leaves. She looks up from the short stack of papers, stapled together powerpoint slides with charts and numbers compiled and explained. She recognizes Richard's and Autumn's scent, but there is another she does not, a human scent.

"Tasha, I need to tell you something," Richard says quietly as he walks to her, barely murmuring, their words lost to the two humans waiting by the front door and talking amongst themselves.

Tasha narrows her eyes and looks at him carefully, his demeanor and scent telling her almost as much as words.

"What's wrong?" she asks, leaning back.

He sits next to her, and continues in the same low tone, "I had a girlfriend seventeen years ago, when I first joined the Army. She was pregnant, and she told me she had an abortion at the same time she was breaking up with me."

Tasha is staring at him, sitting stiffly as he reaches across and takes her hand in his, her eyes narrowed further as her mind processes his words. After a long pause she speaks.

"Go on…." She prompts, her eyes still narrowed at him.

"She didn't get an abortion and she raised the child, the boy, alone, and never told me about him," he says with a tight frown.

Tasha's jaw clenches a few times before she can speak, "He's on the porch, isn't he?"

"His mother died not long ago, and she told him the truth, so he came looking for me," he says with a deep breath, looking intently at her hand in his. "He approached Autumn earlier today."

Tasha simply stares at her hand for a moment, held gently in Richard's and takes a deep breath and centering herself, then nodding.

"Well, let's go meet our son," she says with a smile, squeezing his hand in hers. "I want to be the cool step mom, not the bitch step mom."

She says it lightly, to alleviate the tension and Richard leans over and kisses her gently after she does.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, his hand soft in hers, his nose gentle on her cheek.

"Nothing to be sorry for, love," she says softly, shaking her head slightly. "You didn't know. Now you do, and there is only one way you know to be…"

He pulls back and looks at her with suspicious eyes, which makes her laugh and hold his face in her hands. She kisses his nose at his disgruntled expression and laughs again.

"You can only be _you_ , my love, you know no other way to be," she says with a smile and a breath, the levity easing her tension.

"So, that was awkward as hell," Richard says as he stands on the platform of the barn, arms crossed as he looks at the Bastion below him, his son and daughter sitting at the table with Mischa and Nita while Tasha stands beside him, the other Alphas of the Horde ascending the planks.

Tasha smirks at him while wrapping one arm around his, "I like him, he feels like you must have been at his age."

"He is, which is creepy as hell," Richard says with an uncomfortable shift of his shoulders, his hands clasped around his belt buckle. "He seems like a good sort, though, and Misty seems to have done right by him. I feel bad as hell, though, not being there."

She squeezes his arm silently and kisses his shoulder in support, the other Alphas in hearing distance now and gathering on the platform. They turn from the scene below as the Alphas gather, greeting each in turn, and Richard remains standing as he looks at them all.

"I have discovered that I have a son, which I was unaware of," he says simply, looking around at the Alphas. "He was raised by his mother, and she told him on her deathbed that I was alive and in Houston, along with an old picture. He found Autumn, and she told me today."

He takes a breath as the Alphas turn and look down at where Tony is sitting, who pauses in his conversation as a dozen sets of eyes focus on him. He only looks back steadily, then turns back to Jocelyn without another glance.

"He looks like you," Noel says in his gravelly voice, absently rubbing his temple near his damaged eye. "Will he be staying?"

"He plans to," Richard says with a nod. "He will be staying at the Bastion, in one of the small houses for single folks until he decides on something more long term. He is considered Friend of the Horde in official capacity, but I'll say it simply and directly for everyone to hear and understand."

He pauses and looks around at the gathered Alphas, the dominant member of a group of strong, dominant leaders.

"He is my only son," he says firmly with an orange flash of his eyes. "I expect him to be treated as such."

"Will he be joining the Agoge?" Jameson asks, the Bouda Alpha, her hands clasped behind her back, wearing a white blouse over a long black leather jacket.

"That is for shapeshifters only," he says with a shake of his head. "The tests and trials are designed specifically for those with enhanced healing, reflexes and strength."

"What of the Louisiana Expansion?" Bridgette asks, standing beside her husband. "We know that Curran agreed to our proposed split, when do we initiate the plan?"

"Once the Agoge is firmly on track, we shift our attention to New Orleans," Richard says, looking at the others. "A few weeks to ensure the coordination is locked in, and then I will go as the advance scout."

"I'm still not comfortable with this method," Daniel Torres says with a shake of his head. "You should not go alone down there."

"I spent a month there during the disaster," Richard says with a shake of his head. "I have contacts in the area I need to activate, and no one else can do it."

"We would be more comfortable if you took someone with you, as backup," Thomas Domasca, the Wolf Clan Alpha says with a glance at the other alphas.

"I will consider it," Richard says with a nod, pausing before answering. "Is there any other urgent business?"

There are exchanged looks, but no one speaks up, and Richard nods.

"Good, I will see you all at the next Council meeting," he says, and they all file away at the dismissal.

He stands on the platform and looks down at where his nearly grown son sits at the table, laughing at something Jocelyn had said, and he takes a deep breath, his plans for the future a jumble before him.

Maddie startles awake as someone touches her shoulder, her arm pulled back to strike, but she stops herself before throwing the punch. She blinks in the night, recognizing one of the other guys from her squad squatting next to her in the darkness, having drawn back after touching her. She shakes her head and rubs the sleep from her eyes, pushing herself out of her wool blanket in the wilderness. It is her turn to pull sentry duty, and she is exhausted, having walked with full kit seemed easy until the end of the day and they kept walking and walking to the next day and night.

They had pulled a perimeter in the midnight gloom, gone through the steps to set up a temporary camp for the night and tried to rest. But the schedule demanded one in three up at all times, and so every two hours she is woken up to watch the night for an hour. Add to that the restricted diet they have been given, and the lack of sleep is even more damaging to them. She rubs the handle of the gladius Rick had given her, reminding her why she is here, and pushes up from her position, standing slowly and stretching silently in the night.

She finishes stretching and picks up her bow and quiver of arrows, slinging the ammunition on her back and the bow ready in her left hand as she walks to where the sentry waits. She takes a knee next to the guard, the other teenager nodding at her silently, then handing her a piece of paper with the description and drawing of the area. She looks it over in the dark, her enhanced senses using the moonlight to allow her to read the writing and pictures. She nods after a few moments of study and pats him on the shoulder, to which he nods and walks to his own waiting blankets.

Maddie takes a knee next to the tree, scanning the forest in front of her, her mind drifting slightly as she does. She had joined the Agoge initially to prove she was not a child, that Rick did not need to protect her or punish Joachim. Now that she is here, though, especially after he had given her his sword, it had become more than that, and she does not want to disappoint him, to fail when she knows she can do this. He had not scolded her, looked down at her in judgment or disappointment, but had given her a sign of his blessing. He had not batted an eye when she stepped into the fire, and she understands this is for her, more than for anyone else. She cannot quit, she cannot fail, not now…

Richard is flowing from one attack to another with his sword forms, practicing in the morning air on the platform overlooking the Bastion, slow movements with his katana. His calm has been damaged these last few days, and he is striving on enhancing them, so he is doing more forms, as both the women in his life have told him he is not allowed to go to the Way until they say so. Normally he would growl and negotiate to allow some access, but he had taken a few deep breaths and nodded instead, recognizing he needs to settle himself first, otherwise he may lose control. So instead he extends the time he spends on his meditative katas, flowing from Tai-Chi through his Bushido Katana forms, slashing against imaginary opponents.

Tony is sitting on a bench next to the training area, watching the warriors of the Horde practice in the late morning light. It is overcast and slightly dim, and he hunches under his cloak with his hands in the middle pocket of his sweatshirt, the wind having picked up a bit and cutting through the thin wool cloak. He is focused on a pair of men practicing and sparring thirty yards away, fighting with a gladius apiece. They are moving fast, nearly a blur and with their left hands held firmly behind their backs as they exchange attacks, blocks and parries.

Mom had made him take basic fighting classes when he was younger, and he had done wrestling, then some archery in high school. He had also done a semester in a fencing class where he had competed in a local competition through, placing third in the state. He was fast and pretty good, but smaller than the other guys who picked on him for his tendency to read more. Watching these guys move and fight, he is intimidated further, but Aunt Autumn had said that everyone here is friendly, and will not bully him. They move in a near blur, ducking and shifting side to side while moving their feet as their blades lick out and try to cut the other. One is a tall, lean and muscular black guy with a high, cropped hair cut, the other a shorter, younger white guy with dirty blond hair cropped close as well, leaner and wiry.

He had slept in the small house they had lent him, it being a one bedroom, fully furnished house with a bed and all the details so someone could just walk in and live there. He is having a bit of a hard time with it all, in truth. His mom had been vague about his dad, saying simply that he had died when serving in the Army Rangers, and she did not know much about the military. He had read about them and watched movies, when he understood, but that is a long way from what he has seen since arriving, even with the two months of reading and travel to get here. He had left the heavier new cloak and weapons in the spare room, though, not knowing if he is staying in someone else's house or not. He had made the bed and kept everything neat, his mom's voice in his head to be a good guest and not a dick to folks.

So he is sitting in his own, ratty cloak and sweatshirt watching as the two men spar, riveted by the speed and ability being displayed. The white guy lunges with a slash, and the black guy taps the sword away then slams the flat of his blade on the other guy's thigh. The white guy stumbles and hobbles away on one leg, wincing and rubbing the spot of the strike while the black guy turns easily and tosses the sword to his left hand.

"Match," the white guys says, rubbing the injury to get feeling back, then switching his sword to his left hand.

They shake hands and embrace with a pair of pats on each other's back in a Bro hug, then walk towards where Tony sits. He blinks as he realizes they are coming to him, and he rises, suddenly nervous and annoyed with his ratty appearance, a cheap sword on his hip and the old bow unstrung over his back. He unconsciously tries to settle his cloak out as the two men approach, pleasant smiles on their faces.

"Hi, my name is Alex Hoffman, I work with your father," the white guy says, probably around twenty years old.

"And I'm Mitchell, I'm the Cat Clan male Alpha and the head of Security for the Horde," the black man says, and Tony shakes both men's hands stiffly as he nods.

After a pause, he nods at where they came from the marked out circle for sparring, "That was really good. Can you teach me some of what you were doing?"

Alex chuckles, "Your father taught me most of that, actually. And I'm far from being a master, that's for sure."

"You're getting a lot better," Mitchell says with a smirk, wiping his forehead dry of sweat with the sleeve of the long t-shirt he wears in the chilly winter day. "Over the summer, it took me only a minute to win, you lasted five that time."

"Mitchell is the primary instructor for a lot of the Horde," Alex says with a cocked smile, pushing up the sleeves of his own sweatshirt. "But the Khan did the initial training for a lot of the fighters, and is very involved with the training."

"Don't expect what you don't inspect," Mitchell says with a nod, picking up a water bottle nearby and taking a sip. "I can show you some moves, but you could probably talk to your father about getting a trainer specifically for you, if you want."

"Oh," Tony says, startled at the suggestion. "He'd do that, you think?"

Mitchell has a tight expression, and Alex takes an easy breath and says softly, "I know you don't really know anything about Richard Michaels, but if he considers you family or friend, he'll move heaven and earth to help you. Given time, I think you'll know that."

"But to answer your question, yes, he'll get you a trainer that will work best for what you already know, and where you want to be," Mitchell says with a nod, noticing the teen's consternation. "I was in the Army, if not a Ranger like the Khan was, and it helped me out immensely, but only because where I came from didn't help me out. The Horde is very different, we can actually train far better than the Army, now. In fact we are, with the Agoge."

"What's the Agoge?" Tony asks as he follows where Mitchell leads the other two with him towards one of the larger storage sheds.

"It's essentially Ranger School for shapeshifters, harder and longer," Mitchell answers, then holds up a hand at Alex. "Mind out of the gutter."

The two younger men chuckle at the joke, and Tony speaks next.

"Whose house am I staying in? There were weapons and some clothing there. I didn't want to disturb it," he says, glancing in the direction of the house.

"Yours," Alex says with a pause and an odd look, not having had to explain this to anyone in a long time. "We stocked it with clothes that looked your size, if they're wrong, let me know and we'll fix it. And a standard weapons cache."

Tony blinks and gestures at the house again, "That's standard? There's two good bows, a couple hundred arrows, and like four swords there!"

"Should be three bows, eight hundred mundane arrows, and six swords with two spears, stashed throughout the house," Mitchell says with a furrowed brow. "But if you only glanced in the spare room, that's why you didn't see the rest."

Tony blinks a few times, frowning and shaking his head, "Wait, so, he's just giving that to me?"

"If you need it, yes, take it," Alex says with a nod and a tense expression. "But I'd suggest talking to him about it, when the tech returns. I don't want to speak for him, and make any confusion."

Tony frowns hard as he thinks over the others' words, his view of his unknown father shifting again, and his mind working to accept and understand it.

Richard is finishing up his form, his mind centered and calm, having done practice exercises for nearly four hours straight, and brainstorming and thinking over the future. He feels better, and a bit tired from the motions, but good inside as he turns to the gate and where the horn blows signaling visitors. Two Neo-Vikings ride through the gate, Floki and Jark Ragnarson, and he waves the two young men to him, the tech having just crashed into the world. He does the math mentally, and guesses they had left their village immediately on the fall of magic to get here now.

The two Vikings walk up the four by fours stolidly, eyes on the beams and ascending slowly to the platform on the barn. Richard sheaths his sword with a flourish and turns to them with a smile, shaking both young men's hands and embracing them.

"Welcome, sons of Ragnar," Richard says with a smile at the two. "I would ask what brings you to my Bastion, but I think I already know."

"The All-Father sent us," Floki says with a tense glance at his brother. "His ravens saw your son, when you met upon the ship."

"Do you intend to take him with you on your quest Eastward?" Jark says in a gruffer tone, an eyebrow raised over his thick blond beard.

Richard sighs and frowns tightly at the two younger men, "It's going to be dangerous, and he's human, more prone to injury and death. I haven't decided yet."

"I would counsel that you take him," Floki says carefully from under narrow black eyebrows on a sharper face than his brother's. "We were his age when we joined you on the quest against the wolves and the Giantess."

Richard frowns in thought at that, turning from the two Vikings to look out at the Bastion and collect his thoughts. After a few moments of companionable silence, Richard speaks again, noting that Tony is approaching the barn from the house he has been staying in.

"What are you two up to for the next couple months? Anything I can't hire you away from?" he asks, turning back to them at the last.

Jark grins through his beard and chuckles, "You always promise glorious battle, khan. Of course we're available."

"I don't promise, it just… happens," Richard says with a smirk and a shrug, noting that Tony is carefully ascending the boards to the barn platform.

The three men pause and turn as the young man rises to the roof, pausing and looking around to get his bearings before walking to the platform. He is in the same jeans and sweatshirt, but has taken the new gray cloak from the house and put it on against the cold winter day. Richard nods to his son, then gestures to the two slightly older young men beside him.

"Tony, I'd like to introduce you to two of my most trusted friends, Jark and Floki Ragnarson," he says with a nod at the two. "They have fought at my side and I trust them implicitly. They have agreed to accompany me on a trip I'm taking soon, and I'd like you to come with me, too, if you'd like."

Tony blinks, having just shaken hands with the two Vikings, now looking at Richard, "Where are we going?"

"New Orleans," Richard says with a smirk. "I can explain the details later if you decide to come. But Jark and Floki are Neo-Vikings, human, and have been through a lot with me and with their own people. They fought at my side against giant anacondas, monstrous wolves and in firefights in Central America when they were your age. Which wasn't more than a couple years ago, and reminds me how much we've been through in so short a time," he says the last with a dark chuckle the other two share.

Tony blinks at that and looks at the two young men again, having guessed their ages as much older than that.

"I'm glad you took the cloak, its cold this time of year," he continues with a nod at the cloak then gestures back at the house. "Feel free to use any of the equipment in the house, it's all good steel and wood, and I want you to be able to effectively defend yourself if necessary."

"About that," Tony says with a touch of nervousness he shakes off quickly. "Mitchell and Alex, I met them while they were sparring, they said to ask you about getting lessons, I've only had a few classes, and not that good. I want to be better."

Richard quirks an eyebrow at that, then gestures Floki and Jark off the platform to the side, pulling his sword from its scabbard and sticking it in a heavy log on the roof for the purpose, the ornate handle jutting upwards.

"Take off your extra gear and cloak," Richard says, pulling his own dark red, light wool cloak off, his shapeshifter metabolism keeping him warmer than the human. "Then pull your sword, and let's see your skills, and tell me what you have done to learn."

He reaches out and Jark hands his sword to Richard, who spins it to the side to test the balance, not wanting to use his enchanted sword against Tony's mundane steel. He is wearing just a long t-shirt with a leather vest and jeans over bare feet, and he holds the Viking hand and a half sword in front of him as Tony squares off on him.

"What are the rules?" Tony asks, nervously gripping his sword with two hands, Richard in a relaxed grip low before him.

"Try to hit me, try as hard as you can, and don't worry about hurting me," he says and slowly raises the sword up high, over his head. "When I say stop, then stop and back off. Understand?"

Tony swallows nervously, realizing he is twenty some feet over the ground on the roof of a barn about to get into a sword fight. The sword in Tony's hands is an English longsword with an extended handle and flared cross guard, a simple, cheap weapon, nothing special. He takes a breath and shuffles forward and thrusts at Richard, who parries the thrust easily, and counterattacks. Tony focuses on the movement of Richard's joints and the movement of the blade, working hard to keep his own heavy sword between the other's strikes. After about twenty seconds of back and forth, Richard leans back and nods.

"Stop," he says firmly, and Tony is breathing hard with the exertion of moving the heavy steel as fast as he can without his form being disgustingly sloppy. Richard is not even breathing hard, and had gone through the exchange with ease.

"You took fencing, right?" Richard asks, tilting his head.

"Placed third in the state in a High School competition in Georgia," he says with a nod, his chest swelling slightly in pride.

"Robert!" Richard calls, and a man walking past below them pauses from where he stands and looks up at Richard. "I need gladii, rapiers, and katanas, two of each, now."

"Aye, khan," the black man in his mid-thirties says with a nod and runs off in a flash, belying his were-fox abilities.

"That will give us a chance to evaluate you fairly," Richard says with a nod, handing the sword to Floki. He extends his hand to the side and the Norse Katana pulls itself from the stump of wood and moves to his hand, much as Mjolnir does for Thor.

Tony stumbles back in surprise and his heels are at the edge of the platform, his arms pinwheeling to try and not fall to injury or death. Richard has darted forward, faster than anything Tony has ever seen, and has grabbed the young man's front sweatshirt firmly in his left fist. Tony's heart is in his throat, the movement surprising him again, and he nearly loses his footing as he grabs Richard's arm to steady himself. Tony stares across the bare two feet between his own eyes and Richard's, amazed and more than a little afraid.

"How did you do that?" Tony asks as Richard slowly pulls him onto the platform and his own footing.

"You know what I am, don't you?" Richard asks, tilting his head at the young man that looks so much like him, the beard shaved now.

"A shapeshifter, but…" Tony is shaking his head, moving away from the edge of the platform towards the center. "I almost never met shapeshifters, or worked with them, or anything. They kept their own cliques at school, we didn't interfere."

Richard tilts his head and nods, "I am a were-tiger, one of a few known in the US. I am also a First, which is complicated to explain, but essentially means I'm a boss shapeshifter, by default."

"Oh," Tony says with a nod, trying to understand, and suddenly realizing how slow Richard had been moving when they had fought. He really does not have to hold back when fighting him, he does not stand a chance against him.

"The swords will be here in a moment," Richard says and nods to Floki. "Care to do the William Tell?"

Floki grins back and pats his brother's shoulder, and the two head to the beams to walk down from the barn, and Richard gestures Tony to follow. While the humans walk down, he steps off the platform and lands on bent knees easily twenty feet below, then walks to the open area behind the cabin, gesturing to Tony to come to him. The teen has his gear bundled in his arms, and a slightly befuddled look on his face as Richard waves to the table. He puts the gear down, and Richard picks up the bow and arrows, looking at them intently, moving them to test their balance and quality.

"Not bottom of the barrel, but I think I can get you something better, if you like," he says with a look at the young man, setting the arrow to string and testing the pull. "Did you shoot it often?"

"Took a class freshman year, used it to hunt small game to put some food on the table, a few times a week," he says nervously.

"Rabbits, birds?" Richard asks, glancing at where Floki walks out of the barn with a pair of apples, holding one up to his side on his fingers.

Richard draws and fires, the arrow lancing out and through the apple, knocking it from Floki's hand. The young Viking grins, having expected as much, and he pulls his sword and balances another apple on the flat, holding it out to the side. Richard hands the bow to Tony, nodding to the sword and apple.

"Can you hit it?" Richard asks.

Tony scowls a bit, the distance only fifteen yards or so, then jerks his chin at Floki while picking up an arrow.

"Throw it up," Tony says as he carefully sets the arrow on the string, and Floki quirks an eyebrow and flings the apple skyward.

Before the fruit reaches the top of its arc Tony has drawn and fired, piercing the apple through completely, juice and two pieces landing on the ground.

"That's good," Richard says with a grin.

"I can definitely teach you something, I think," Floki says as he walks up, his own expensive bow over his back with a thick quiver, Jark with only melee weapons and an SMG.

"Floki is the best archer among the Vikings," Richard says with a smile as the young man comes close. "I would daresay even as good as I was, when I was human."

"The khan is humble," Floki says jokingly, and Richard grins, turning to Tony who is trying to not embarrass himself among his father and friends. "I can teach you combat shooting techniques, which are different than hunting, far different, if you like."

"Archery is important, guns will fail, but a bow never will," Richard says with a reassuring smile at the youth. "And it lets you kill something from a distance. When I was a Ranger, we always softened them up from a distance, and went melee only when necessary. We were human, not as fast or strong as the creatures we fought, and healed normal."

"When you realize it'll take days and weeks to recover from an injury or wound, you fight with far more care," Jark says as he walks up, munching on an apple.

"I can teach you a lot, but some of it you'll have to learn from normal humans, not shapeshifters," Richard says. "The mentality is different. But I can still teach you the sword, preferably the katana, but we'll see where you are with everything, first."

He says the last as Robert returns with a pack over his shoulder, a number of sword handles jutting out of the top of it.

Tony is bent over gasping, tired and sweating, even after removing his sweatshirt, the katana held awkwardly to the side. He had just gone through a long trading of attacks between him and Richard, and the faster man had kept the tempo up, forcing Tony to his limit. The short swords he had been terrible at, the lack of reach were bad considering his background, the rapier he had been comfortable with, but realized that the small point was not good to fight against stronger opponents. He had been surprised how much he had liked the katana, with Richard telling him to adjust attacks, blocks and parries while they fought, and he adjusted his technique accordingly.

"Not… fair…." Tony gasps, dry heaving for a moment, Richard across from him, fighting not to laugh or smile.

When Tony had tried to stop and back off Richard had pressed the attack and swatted him with the flat of the blade, getting a frustrated response. Tony's efforts had renewed, but could not last forever nor match Richard's endurance. While they had fought, he had noticed on his periphery that others had joined them, and he now raises his head to see that Mischa, Tasha and Jocelyn are sitting on the picnic table with their feet on the bench. There is a tray of sausage on the table between them, Jocelyn on Tasha's lap as the three females absently eat the meat while watching.

"You owe me five bucks," Jocelyn says as she reaches over and lightly slaps Mischa's shoulder playfully. "I told you he'd last longer than five minutes."

"How long was that?" Tony asks, watching as Richard hands his sword to Robert who is waiting to the side, calling his own sword to hand from the side and a stump of wood by the picnic table.

"Eight minutes, twenty eight seconds," Tasha says with a nod of admiration. "I'm impressed, Anthony, you really pushed yourself."

"Jocelyn, honey, do me a favor, and go down to my arms room, grab the curved sword wrapped in brown leather, on the second set of shelves on the right, on the top shelf," Richard says as he makes eye contact with the young were-lion.

"Ooooh," Jocelyn says with a squee of excitement, jumping from Tasha's lap and running into the cabin with the speed that only a ten year old shapeshifter can.

"You need a drink," Richard says, picking up the pitcher of tea on the picnic table and pouring a glass.

Tony takes it appreciatively, gaining his breath back, and when he finished the glass Mischa hands him his sweatshirt back. He nods and pulls the old sweatshirt over his sticky, sweaty head, and when he is settled, Jocelyn is back, handing the wrapped leather to Richard.

"Not long ago, Jocelyn and her sister, Maddie, broke into my personal armory, and found the gear I use, and in the corner, they saw this," he says as he unwraps the leather and reveals a katana.

The handle is simple wood with a brown leather cord wrapped around it, the tsuba guard simple and unornamented steel. He tosses the leather wrap to the side and holds the sword before him, a simple black and red mixed in a veneer over the wooden scabbard covering the blade.

"This is the sword I wore for years, a gift from my Company Commander when I was promoted from a Staff Sergeant to a Sergeant First Class, and was given a Platoon," he says, extending the sword towards Tony, who is staring at the sword. "It was a faithful companion of mine for years, and always stood me in good stead even though it was non-magical, and it is the reason I survived the attack of six shapeshifting loups that tried to kill me, the night I became a were-tiger."

Tony flinches at the word _loup_ , knowing what they are, and glancing from his father to the sword, amazed at the implied battle.

"I had some improvements done to it, it is enchanted now, and although when I was a human, I saw this sword as the embodiment of my soul, when I changed, I couldn't take it with me," he says with a slight shake if his head, recalling the gladius Tasha and Alex had given him, which his adopted daughter is now carrying in the Agoge.

"Take this," Richard says, extending it a touch more. "And find your path, as I did."

Tony hesitates, the others nearby stopped and staring, besides the family, over a dozen shapeshifters are within fifty yards, and every single one has now stopped what they are doing and watching. Tony swallows on a nervous, dry, mouth, and accepts the sword with both hands, ducking his head at Richard as he does. Richard smiles crookedly as the young man takes the sword and pulls the blade out, studying the simple steel blade that has a touch of a shimmer to it.

"Thank you, Richard… I mean… Dad," Tony says, squaring his shoulders and holding his eyes level with Richard. "I'll try not to disappoint."

Richard smirks and chuckles, patting Tony on the shoulder, "That's impossible. You're my son."

"I swear to god, Joachim, get your guys to hurry the _fuck_ up," Maddie says in a low growl as she looks around at the rest of the heavy platoon of shapeshifters in the early morning light.

Joachim fights not to snarl in response, him and four others around Maddie, who is the acting Platoon Leader of the patrol, the five squad leaders surrounding her. They had been moving constantly at a pace which feels impossible, with everyone being switched out of the roles of leadership. Leadership roles ranging from a Team Leader in charge of five people or so, Squad Leaders in charge of twelve (two teams), and the Platoon Leader, in charge of all five squads and all the candidates while the instructors give general commands and watch.

"The damn mortars are too much," he says with a shake of his head. "Even with switching the load around, the carry is too awkward for the weight, and unbalanced, we can't move faster. I've already had five sprained ankles, and it takes time to heal them, even for us."

Maddie growls low and closes her eyes to keep the flash in them from showing to the others or the instructors, who had warned that there is to be no unauthorized light. She thinks for a long moment as she takes a pair of breaths and she remembers one of Rick's sayings when something hard comes along.

"Let's try this smarter, not harder," she says with a frown, looking at the group. "I need three jackets from each of the squads, now, and one person each of the smartest, not strongest, the _smartest_ , to come to the center. I have an idea."

With the cloth provided, Maddie and the smart candidates have ripped the cloth and tied them into slings and harnesses that will carry the 120mm mortar tubes that Joachim's squad has been trying to move. The four tubes are not heavy to a healthy shapeshifter, but the candidates are weak from hunger and exhaustion. Now they will be able to carry the heavy tubes easier, and hopefully faster with the new arrangement. Maddie watches as Joachim's squad pulls the impromptu harnesses on awkwardly, and though far from comfortable, easier than what they had been doing.

"Break up the frames among the rest of the Platoon," she says to her acting Platoon Sergeant, a young male were-tiger from the Xiang Clan, nodding and detailing the distribution as they get ready to move again.

Richard is checking his saddlebags in the living room, the bags on the couch as he stands behind it, and he nods as he notes the rations, money and precious metal enclosed in it. He has on jeans, black on black Converse All-Star sneakers, his katana, kurki on his other hip, bow and quiver over his shoulder. He vest is black, long sleeved t-shirt thicker than usual against the cold outside and a thick black wool cloak on a peg to the side he will be donning shortly. He turns his head as he hears Jocelyn and Mischa coming down from upstairs, Tasha from their bedroom.

"Good morning, ladies," he says, picking up his saddlebags.

"I know no long goodbyes, everyone is supposed to think you are going to Dallas for a meeting," Tasha says with a glance at Mischa and Jocelyn, and Richard lowers to a knee as the young girl runs at him.

"Be careful, Rick," she says as she gives him a fierce hug, and he can tell that she is on the edge of tears.

He pulls back and looks in her eyes with a smile on his face, "Honey, you know what I can do, and what I've been through. I won't promise to be careful, but I will promise to do everything I can to be back quickly as possible so we can finish reading the last Eragon book together."

The young girl hugs him tight again, and Richard smiles as he kisses her firmly on the forehead, then rises to his feet. With the saddle bags in one hand he wraps Mischa in a firm hug, and kisses her confidently on the jaw, placing his forehead to hers. Mischa nods without a word, and Richard turns to the front door, where Tasha waits with a hand on a hip and an eyebrow raised.

"C'mere," she says with a smirk.

He walks into her and they embrace firmly, kiss fiercely, time lost as they lose themselves in each other. After a few long moments, they pull apart, their faces still rubbing against each other as they breathe in the others' scent.

" _Mate_ ," Tasha says in a low growl, meeting Richard's eyes with hers, both flashing at the meaning and feeling between them.

Richard kisses her again, passionate but briefer than before, and pulls to a handspand between their noses.

"I love you," he says with a predatory smile at her.

"Go do what you do," Tasha says with a smirk with a toss of her head to the door and the gates beyond. "We'll keep the home-fires burning."

Autumn is sitting in her workroom, legs tucked beneath her on a chaise lounge she had found at a yard sale, reading a transcription of an old Babylonian tablet. She is chewing on the inside of her lower lip while thinking, believing she has found the linchpin of breaking the dialect on the staff Rich had given her. It talks about an old Babylonian ruler that differed from the traditionally accepted method of dialect progression most scholars believe, and the difference is the key.

She, with the help of the Vohls and Witches, have been working on deciphering the remaining Tablets of Destiny which were formed into the armor of Tiamat. They have learned some things, but mostly already established truths about magic, as the dialect of Cuniform is distinct _and_ eccentric. She is the only bridge between the Russian magic users and the Rabbis who have the wealth of knowledge to actually be able to cross reference the information. So she has been busy around work trying to cross reference where the dis-connection is between the historical Cuniform and the style engraved on the staff.

The book she is reading now is referencing talks about general Jewish mythology prior to 1500 BC, in other words, prior to the enslavement by Egypt. It is rife with contradictions and things that have been referenced in later works that are obvious false translations to her eyes and experience. But this tale is different, talking about a fallen prophet of Yahweh who sought his own empire. The writing is vague and difficult to read, the characters are familiar, as she sees them every day on her staff. She is shaking with excitement, the staff across her legs as she looks between the book and staff to check the symbols.

"You look happy," a voice says from the doorway, and she nearly jumps from her seat, but does startle, Stanaslov standing in the doorway of the bedroom, in the jeans and white t-shirt from last night, barefoot. His sweatshirt and cloak awkwardly hung on the peg by the front door.

"Just finding something I've been looking for," she says with a smile, trying to contain her joy as she marks the page and leans the staff to the side. "Coffee?"

"I'm a tea drinker, and I thought you were, too?" he says with a tilted head.

"I love tea, but coffee wakes me up, and gets me moving for the day," she says with a chuckle. "I never drink more than one a day, but that one to start off the morning is amazing."

Stanaslov chuckles, "I'll have a cup, then."

She smiles at him, rising in her own wool bathrobe over sweat pants and shirt she had donned on rising. She goes about making the coffee, using a strainer and a hot water heater, measuring the grinds and draining against the straining.

"The tech is up," Stanaslov says with a furrowed brow as he watches her make two cups of coffee. "You could push a button and in five minutes it would be ready. Why do you make it by hand?"

"Time and effort gives things their value," she responds in an odd tone, and he quirks an eyebrow as she carefully pours one, then another cup of coffee. "Tech doesn't always work, so I just always make it this way, it's a ritual at this point, I suppose, more than anything else."

Stanaslov nods, accepts the drink graciously, and takes a sip, fighting not to frown at the strength of the flavor. He sets the drink down and looks across at Autumn, just looking, an eager expression on his face despite the horrible coffee of a moment before.

She looks away from his gaze with a slight blush, "What?"

"I sincerely hope that is not the last time, and I mean it in the nicest way possible," he says with a smile through his short brown beard, reaching a hand tentatively across the counter between them, unsure but wanting.

She narrows her eyes at him, then reaches across and holds his hand in hers gently, only by the fingertips.

"No promises," she says with a small twist of her lips. "And not to be rude, but I have work to do today. I can't have someone lolligacking about my place while I try to work."

He chuckles and takes a sip of the coffee, smiling despite the taste and rises, giving a short bow as he moves to the door and his sweatshirt and cloak.

"Then I shall bid m'lady… adieu," he says, picking up his garments and stepping out the door, and she looks over at him as he leaves with narrowed eyes.

She stands up and picks up both mugs from the counter separating the kitchen and dining room, pouring both cups of the foul tasting coffee down the drain. She hates that brand of coffee in the morning, she prefers a light Arabic roast, not that cowboy stuff that makes horseshoes stand up in it. But she always uses it the night after having a good night like one with Stanaslov, just to see what their reaction is. She reaches for the better coffee and places the Arabian blend to the side as she thoroughly rinses her strainer while her mind contemplates the implications of her night with Stanaslov, not realizing that she is entirely her brother's sister.

Richard is riding alongside the three humans accompanying him until they have reached a hundred miles north of Houston, then they cut off country at a busy intersection of US Highway, selling their mounts for a quarter on the dollar, buying new ones. They resume their trip east now, at a good clip but in no rush. Since asking for teaching a week ago, Tony has done lessons regularly with Floki for his bowmanship and Richard for his Katana forms. The young man is coming along well, a rookie, but with aptitude and a desire to do well.

"So, everyone seemed anxious, about going to New Orleans," Tony says one night as he and Richard are sitting at the fire, cleaning their weapons as Floki and Jark gather firewood and small game for dinner.

Richard pulls one edge of his mouth up tightly, a reflex as he is reminded again of where he is going and he pushes the feelings to the side to deal with later.

"Did you hear or read about the storm that hit New Orleans, when the entire city and those around it was cordoned off for over a month and they waited to see what would happen?" he asks, glancing at the young man while checking the blade of a dagger he uses to eat with.

"Uhh…" Tony says dumbly, while blinking and dredging up the class he had had on recent events from school. "The National Guard failed, the Army failed, and they backed off until the flare and the local conditions stabilized. A lot of people died, I think."

"I was the second in charge of a Platoon of Rangers that went in to try and keep the peace, to keep the monsters at bay, nearly forty highly trained soldiers," Richard says with a tight smile and a deep breath as the speaks, focusing on his dagger. "Everyone but myself and one other out of an entire platoon died there. We asked for help, and we were left to rot on the vine and die, alone, without backup or support."

Tony is looking now intensely at his father, unable not to, his blade forgotten while Richard continues to slowly stroke a whetstone across his blade, focused.

"How long were you there?" Tony asks, lowering his hands, his sharpening forgotten.

Richard looks intensely at the sharpened blade and beyond it to the fire, the memories within it, "A month, while my men died one by one, as I tried to save them and the civilians, failing. I had been abandoned, when our creed said we left no one behind."

Tony swallows hard at the rigid statement Richard says, and awkwardly resumes sharpening his own knife as Richard only looks at the outline of the dagger against the fire.

"I never really got over that," Richard says after nearly a minute. "They left me to die, fighting monsters and creatures no one had ever heard of… But I survived, and I built a new life in Houston. One that eventually became what I am today."

After a few moments of silence as Richard starts to set out a deep pan for dinner, Tony speaks up again.

"They were your friends, the ones that you lost there," he says in a slightly querying tone, knowing he is talking on something personal, sacred.

Richard stops as he holds the pan in his hand and turns on his toes in his squat, looking solidly at Tony as he responds.

"They were my brothers, whom had bled with me on countless battlefields, who watched my back as I watched theirs, who told me about their sons and daughters, their wives and mothers, sisters and brothers, girlfriends and weekend hangouts," Richard says with a tight smile. "They were closer to me than any kin I had but two, my sisters who had suffered the same upbringing I had… They were my brothers, though we were not remotely related. And I mourn them deeper than those who called me son and never really knew what that meant."

He turns slowly from that, pulling more cooking ingredients and parts from a pack as Tony contemplates the meaning of the words his father had spoken, surprised at the depth of the meaning.

Autumn walks into the front door of the cabin and walks right to the kitchen in back, beaming as she does. When she sees that Mischa, Tasha and Jocelyn are there and no one else she nearly giggles in excitement.

"I can lift the curse from Rich," she says with a smile at the three were-lions.

There's a moment of silence and Jocelyn grins in a beaming smile, but Tasha's and Mischa's expression are blank as they turn their heads and they look at each other intensely. Autumn stiffens as she recognizes the silent communication between the two, understanding that there is a problem or an issue. She takes a breath and forces a smile as she sits to dinner with the three, where they ignore her initial statement.

Much later than Autumn would prefer being up, opening the shop the next day, she is sitting at the kitchen table talking in low, hushed tones inside a sound ward. Mischa and Tasha are drinking hard liquor, a local moonshine that is 140 proof, but Autumn drinks a stiff table wine instead.

"What is going on?" Autumn asks, looking at her brother's wife and mistress, though no one has used that term for Mischa.

"Richard has left town, he's going to New Orleans to prep the region for our takeover in the next few months," Tasha says with a shrug.

Autumn closes her eyes and works her tongue in her mouth while taking a deep breath to think and work over the words and implications before speaking.

"He left to continue his expansion, even though he can't talk half the time," Autumn says with a tight expression and a direct look at Tasha.

"To be honest," Mischa says with a slightly raised hand, "Statistics have shown that the magic is in charge roughly seventy percent of the time over the last two months."

"Less than half, then," Autumn says with a hard look at Mischa. "He only talks during tech, and he left to work out the foundation of the New Orleans takeover when he can only talk a third of the time."

With a tight expression, looking at the moonshine in a coffee mug in her hand, Tasha comments, "He doesn't really talk much during negotiations, you know."

Autumn frowns harder at the two women across from him, "When will he be back?"

"Two, three weeks, if there's no major problems," Tasha says with a shrug. "In a month or so, we all go to visit the New Orleans groups and finish it up."

Autumn takes a deep breath, "I assume he took some guards. Mitchell, Alex?"

"Mitchell is running the Agoge, can't be spared," Mischa says, then glances at Tasha who continues.

"And Alex is covering while Richard is out of the loop, doing contracts in armor in the Way and running Hoffman's," she says with a tight expression. "He took the Ragnarsons and Tony."

Autumn blinks at the statement, twice, then says calmly and evenly, "He took two barbarian teenagers and his teenage son as backup into the place that caused him deep emotional scarring that he is still dealing with?"

Tasha takes a deep breath and responds, "Well, when you say it like that, I'm kinda worried, too. But it's not that bad."

"He, the one that has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder events tied to every _string_ of the _fabric_ of that area, is the only one old enough to legally drink alcohol in the group, and is the _one in charge_ …" Autumn say slowly and carefully as she rubs her eyes to calm herself, ending on an angry tone.

The two were-lions across from her are suddenly silent as they look at their mugs of booze, and both take deep quaffs simultaneously. When their mugs hit the table, Tasha looks at Mischa, who pours them another drink. Autumn narrows her eyes in a frown at Mischa.

"Aren't you pregnant?" she asks, knowing that alcohol inhibits human embryos.

"Shapeshifter metabolism," she says with a crooked smile. "I only get a brief feel of the alcohol, my metabolism and liver filter out the alcohol so quickly and efficiently. The placenta and buffer to the kids is even better. I could smoke crack and they wouldn't be affected, except by genetics. Even so, I'm not drinking or doing anything diet-wise that is bad for them, most of the time."

Autumn blinks, another thing she did not know, but shakes her head and focuses on the two younger women again.

"You had a look, like you expected something when he left, and now I'm suspicious," she says, and the other two only shrug. Tasha is the one to speak up.

"It seems like what Richard calls 'Murphey's laws'," she says, taking another hit of the moonshine. "When it rains, it doesn't just pour, it's a hurricane."

Autumn looks at her wine, thinking… If she finds the cure earlier, it is easy for Rich. If she finds it later, it did not matter… but finding it now, it makes it a linchpin in the future, and feels… predetermined. She blinks hard against that and takes a sip of wine, the heavy wine spiced more to plum than she would like. No, it is like that its part of someone telling a story or tale, they make the coincidence to see if the characters can drive the tale to a failure or success, and history tells the tale as it will.

She blinks while looking into the surface of the wine in her mug, realizing it was Rich's voice in her head that said the last, him rubbing off on her more lately than before. She takes only a bare sip and looks at the women across from her, knowing that challenges loom before them, and determined not to be the weak link.

Richard is walking down the lower portions of the Baton Rouge, his mind fighting his emotions as he subconsciously recalls submerged storefronts and streets. Tony and the Ragnarsons are behind him, watching the streets and alleys as he leads them to a hotel a few blocks north of where they had entered town. He knocks a few times, and when the plump black woman answers, the small door in a heavy wood and steel door opens, he pulls back his hood and simply makes eye contact with her. The chubby woman stares for a moment and closes the peep door then opens the locked door, gesturing him inside.

Richard looks around the second floor lobby in the heart of Baton Rouge, a tight smile on his face, then looks at the young woman, a teenager, guiding them, finally recognizing her.

"Rebecca?" he asks, and the girl turns, her dark skin and red tinged hair marking her as different, and she pauses from her glance as she recognizes him.

"Michael!" she says in a soft shout, jumping at him and wrapping him in a hug. "I though you dead. You should have told us you lived."

He smiles at the young girl's enthusiasm, and sets her down with a tight smile, glancing at the varying surprised expressions of his youthful companions. He turns to Rebecca and her mother, the plump woman, who smiles tightly and guides them to the main room. She gestures to the chairs as she lights candles, speaking as she does.

"I had thought at first I would never see you again, Michael," the old black woman says, wrapped in thick rags to form a flowing dress. "But I saw your face in Texas, and realized one day you would be here again."

"Much to my dismay," he says with a tight smile.

"You lost family here," the old woman says, pausing as she lights another candle. "You mourn still, and regret the actions you took."

"I regret nothing I did," Richard says solidly with a firm look at the older woman's eyes, his face solid. "I regret the decisions others made that put us in a position to make me have to make those decisions."

The old woman nods sagely, sitting at the head of the table, a crystal ball in front of her, "Why are you here?"

"I will soon move to control all the shapeshifters in New Orleans and the surrounding area," he says firmly. "I wanted to scout the area, and see what the local population was like."

She nods, "Would you care for a reading?"

"Please," he says, pulling a pouch from where it is tucked in his belt, pouring the three silver and three gold coins on the table's felt. "But not a full read, I'm not looking for the tale of my life or future. A limited read, three cards, I think."

The woman nods, her ebony skin dry and with flakes despite the humidity of the area, and she reaches under the table and produces a deck of Tarot cards. The tablecloth swishes across her wrist as her ringed bracelets jingle gently in the room and she holds the deck forward for him to cut. He knocks on the deck, indicating no cut. Richard is intensely aware of the scent of the woman and those around him as the woman spreads the cards in her hands and blows on them softly before setting them on the table and spreading them wide to show each corner distinctly, none hidden.

"First, we draw your past," the woman says, gesturing for him to pick a card.

He pulls one slightly from the others, and the woman reaches out and pulls it the rest of the way and rests it on the felt in the center of the table, to Richard's left. The large card, as long as his hand and as wide, is faded with age and boxed at the corners, but the picture is clear on the face of the card despite that, reversed from his position. A man sitting in bed, swords hung on the wall behind him as he sits up in the bed, a concerned look on his face. The woman makes a pensive expression as she studies the card, then looks at Richard.

"The Nine of Swords, reversed," she says. "Anguish, depression and loss haunt your past, hopelessness, even."

"The past is past, and hope is restored," he says with a tight nod. "I know my past, and it will stay there. I look to the now and the future."

"Then draw again," the woman says, nodding and gesturing at the deck again.

Richard reaches forward and pulls another card from the deck, and she pulls it out and turns it into the center of the table between her and Richard. The card shows a picture of five men with quarterstaffs, all fighting each other, and none together, each trying to win. The woman quirks an eyebrow and purses her lips before looking again at Richard.

"The Five of Wands," she says with narrowed eyes at Richard. "You will see conflict, strife, battle and competition."

Richard smiles tightly, "You've just described most of the days of my life. I am glad that the cards know my history and life now. I wonder what they will say of the future?"

She waves again at the table, and he pulls a last card forward, and she flips it to the side of the center card, to Richard's right. The picture is a knight, a wizard and an archer with the armored figure in the center, all looking at three pentacles on silver discs in the upper portion of the card, upright to Richard. Both the woman's eyebrows rise up at the sign, surprised, and blinks a few times slowly before looking again at Richard.

"The Three of Coins, upright," the woman says with a furrowed brow. "A good sign, I think, it means that there will be learning and teamwork in your future, but learning and gains always come at the cost of conflict and challenge."

"You seemed surprised," Richard says, a concerned look on his face as he looks at the woman, having smelled the fear in her skin and now sensing her rising heartbeat and adrenaline in her system.

"I… I feared to see another card," she says with a twist of her head.

"Death," Richard says flatly, tilting his head slightly to look at her from just under his brows. "Death is a constant in my life, but why would you expect it? What do you know?"

Her heart is racing, he can tell, and the smell of fear from her is strong, despite her only slightly flustered look, and she glances at her daughter with a real look of worry.

"I do not hurt others for the failures of one," Richard says firmly. "I never have, and I pray I never will. Tell me, I may be able to help."

She looks back at him, and her face softens, a recognition in her face and eyes as a memory from years ago surfaces. He had said the same thing to her in New Orleans, when they had first met.

"I am sorry," the old woman says with a pensive look at the younger girl to the side again, probably Tony's age, seventeen or so. "I am not a native here, and they threatened us."

Richard takes a deep breath while fighting not to tense, gesturing to the others with him, "Can you get them out?"

He rises after asking, gesturing to the Vikings and Tony.

"I can," she says. "Though I don't know what after."

"Send Rebecca with them," he says simply.

"I…" she begins but he cuts her off while standing in her doorway to the hall outside.

"She will be cared for as one of my own, I swear," he says firmly, his tone is solid as rock, and she only nods as she begins to guide the others to the secret exit from her shop.

"Floki," he says to the most trusted of the three young men, and knowing Richard's mind and some plans. "Tell my wife and the All Father; Subedai."

"Yes, khan," the young man says with a slightly puzzled look, then follows the others out of the room.

Richard opens the door and walks out to the sidewalk, into the street and slowly walks to the center of the cobblestone road, his eyes flitting to the rooftops and alleys, though his head is unmoving. He has raised his hands to shoulder height, and once a full block from the door he had exited from he stops at the intersection, he can hear no traffic for three blocks. He waits patiently, only barely sensing the shadows around him as he holds still and silent in the night, and after nearly five minutes, the shadows materialize from the closest doorways and alleys, rifles raised against him in black armor and helmets.

"Richard Michaels!" one of the helmeted men says, the voice faintly familiar to Richard, a former comrade from the Rangers. "Place your sword on the ground slowly and raise your hands!"

Richard slowly draws his katana with two left fingers, lowers it in front of him and places the tip on the cobbles, then lowers his other hand and presses the palm down on the hilt. While shoving the blade six inches in the ground he draws a talon across his right palm and focuses a power word mixed with a ward, and locks the blade to the earth. Not the stone or the street, but he earth, meaning no one could draw the blade from the ground but him or someone powerful enough to do so. Despite the magic being the down, the spell will hold, and he feels slightly winded at the exertion.

He rises his hands up to shoulder height and backs away from the sword and slowly goes to his knees as Army Rangers swarm him and tie him up and take him into custody.

A pair of soldiers run forward and grab the handle of the sword in the street, but it does not budge, fixed in position while Richard is pushed into a carriage. The soldier heaves and pulls, but the blade stays solid and firm, unmoving. The Ranger gestures to the other, and they both grab the handle, then on three they pull hard together. Again, nothing.

"Step back," another man says as he walks up to them, the senior officer on the ground.

The man pulls off his gloves, his rifle slung beside him and a pistol on his hip as he carefully grips the sword and pulls as hard as he can. After a few long moments of gasping and pulling, he stumbles back, the sword unmoving.

"He must have shoved it into something below," the officer says. "The tech is up, so it can't be magic. Get a crew in here to excavate and bring it along."

"What the hell was that?" Tony asks as he follows Jark in the tunnel of the sewers of Baton Rouge, Rebecca leading and Floki in the rear, the old woman left behind.

"Someone must have been watching, and sent someone to attack us," Floki says with a glance at their trail again, his 9mm SMG ready. "The Khan will handle it. The message is likely in case he is delayed."

"Delayed?" Tony asks, frowning in the dim light of the battery powered glow stick he is using for light. "What do you mean, delayed?"

"If he is captured, or sent somewhere, or can't return immediately for one reason or another," Jark says from in front of him with a shrug. "I wouldn't worry, it is not the first time something like this has happened. He'll be fine, and we'll be waiting to rejoin him in glorious battle."

"My brother is overzealous," Floki says with a smirk, following the others, giving Tony a reassuring look. "But he's not wrong. The khan can take care of himself, I assure you. We need to get out of the area, and back to Houston, the mission is a bust, I think."

"Where will we go?" Tony asks, not having been in on the planning for details in the trip.

"There are some of our brothers, Vikings, in town," Jark says from ahead. "Once we are clear of the area he was captured in, we will go to them. Our father is a king, and is well known throughout the country. They will shelter us and help us along our way."

"Your dad's a king?" Tony asks, surprised.

"Well, his dad," Floki says with a twist of his lips. "I'm the bastard child, but da treats me like one of his own, even if I can't inherit."

Tony nods mutely, digesting that as he follows the others on the upwards slope of the sewer leading further inland.

Richard is sitting in a cell in what he suspects is the local FBI department, his equipment gone and stripped to only a t-shirt and jeans, his shoes and other clothing taken as well. He sits in the chill of the room, sixty three degrees he would guess, just below room temperature and enough to make people uncomfortable. He is in the lotus position in the exact center of the room, his eyes closed and breathing slowed as he waits.

The soldiers, Rangers he could recognize by their gear, uniforms and training, had secured him quickly and firmly, if a bit rougher than necessary. He does not begrudge them, they are following orders and doing their jobs, he has no wish to hurt them, and he would have done the same in their shoes. They had searched him quickly and efficiently and put him in an armored wagon with guards on the sides attentively watching and aiming at him as they rode to the building he now sits in. The tech had crashed during the trip and the magic rules the world, so he had felt the prickle of magic over his skin as they had brought him in and locked him behind silver alloy bars and heavy wards.

He opens his eyes and rises fluidly to his feet, balanced easily on the balls of his feet as the door in the hall opens, and a man walks sedately down the corridor to the open bars of his cell. The man smells of bacon grease and stale coffee, with gun oil and a touch of silver that tell him that the metal of the weapons is an alloy. The man enters his view and Richard recognizes him immediately, though he has not seen his former Company Commander in years. He fights not to show the anger on his face as he studies the man.

The man is taller than Richard, nearly six feet tall, solid of build but with a touch of padding, a man who takes his workouts seriously as he knows his body is his most vital weapon. Black hair in a high and tight with a flat top, clean shaven and sharp features including an aristocratic nose and a bobbing Adam's apple. The eyes are a beady grey color, unnerving, and his thin lips drawn in a tight frown at he looks through the bars at Richard. The man wears green and brown camouflage uniform of the Rangers, Major rank on his collar and crossed rifles of Infantry on the other, as well as pistol crossbow in his hand.

"Mr. … Michaels, is it now?" the man says with a deep frown of distaste as he looks through the bars at one of his former soldiers. "I knew I'd see you like this one day."

Richard says nothing, remembering what this man had done to the Company after taking charge, six months before sending Richard's Platoon to New Orleans. The previous Commander had been a great leader, and had set Richard on his path as a senior Non Commissioned Officer, a Sergeant First Class. Then Captain Walters had taken over, and though the other leaders had tried to protect the soldiers, the chain of command is a hard thing to escape, and they could not disobey. He had turned the best company among the greatest Soldiers ever forged by the US Army into something far less, and it disgusted Richard then, just as it does now.

The silence stretches, the officer expecting something from Richard, but getting nothing, as the Curse of Babylon holds him and he cannot speak. The silent treatment is a better approach, and Richard only looks firmly and stonily across at the man he has dreamed of killing with his bare hands more than once.

"Nothing to say?" the man asks, feeling he has won the contest, smirking at Richard. "They said to bring you in, alive and intact. Well, intact has many meanings. And I've been dreaming of this for a long time…"

He raises the pistol crossbow and holds the bow level at Richard's head, but the were-tiger does not flinch or back down, simply stares across with the intense gaze of a caged predator waiting to be released. Walters lowers the bow and fires the bolt into Richard's stomach, and the projectile buries itself in to the fletching. Richard grunts and one eye twitches, but he stays standing, lowering his hand to the fletching and pushing. The tip exits the back, a wicked broadhead with back curved blades on the reverse of the head which will damage even further when pulled out the way it entered.

Richard is clenching his jaw while maintaining his focused gaze on Walters, his eyes flashing briefly as he pulls the bolt all the way through. Richard is breathing heavily, raising the bolt in front of him, then drops it at his own feet. Walters is scowling at Richard now, having thought to humiliate the man he had hated for his ability to persevere. He continues to scowl while reloading the crossbow, pulling back the string and nearly fumbling laying the bolt across the rail and string. He raises the small weapon and fires another bolt, this fired at Richard's knee, meant to drop him.

The broad head skips slightly off Richard's kneecap and through the lower thigh, severing muscle and tendons. Richard shifts his stance, the bolt flying through the leg, and his right leg now nearly dangling as he stands on one leg. Both wounds are oozing a grey, bloody fluid, the silver of the heads poisoning and killing the LycV in his system. Walters sneers at Richard and leaves the cell, the only two bolts he had brought lying on the floor, and having lost the first round to Richard.

Tony is sitting at the side of the low fire in the dark of the night, his bow across his knees as he scans the darkness, it his turn to watch as they travel. He senses movement and shifts to one knee as he seats an arrow and prepares to draw. Floki has been having him practice the draw over and over again, ingraining that step one in combat archery is the ability to draw and seat the projectile, and that accuracy comes with time and practice. So throughout the preparation for the trip and the trip itself, he is been practicing draw and seating, in a repetitiveness that is forming heavy calluses on his fingers and palms, as well as building strength in muscles he did not know he had.

He relaxes as he notes the movement is from where Rebecca is bedded down in the camp, and he eases his posture, returning the arrow to the appropriate place in his quiver on his back. Floki and his father had both been adamant that he learn to draw from the right place in his arrangement of arrows, so he knows how many of what type remains, as some creatures can only be damaged with certain types. So he has a collection of three types of arrows on his back, steel headed, silver headed and an obsidian headed, what Richard says in intended against advanced undead, whatever that means.

He returns to where he sits straddling the log by the fire, able to twist and look all directions and not hindered by the glowing coals of the fire. Rebecca moves over and sits across from him, and though his sight is slightly blocked on that side of the camp, he does not comment, the view of the light chocolate skinned, dark red-headed girl a nicer view by far. She has a wool blanket around her shoulders and she is huddled low as she sits on the log and looks over her right shoulder at him.

"How do you know Michael?" Rebecca asks, having not said much during the journey, intimidated by the two Vikings, and following Tony's subtler hints and guidance.

Tony takes a deep breath, looking at her green eyes for a moment, then glancing around the edges of the camp again.

"I assume you mean the man who we were traveling with?" he asks rhetorically. "I never heard him called Michael before, until you did. The name he goes by now is Richard Michaels, and he's my father."

He makes eye contact with the last, and the girl blinks and looks at him steadily, nodding slowly, "You do look a lot like him. I thought you were related. I didn't know he had a family."

"He didn't know he had a son, until a month or so ago," Tony admits softly with a tight smile and a shrug, looking around again, knowing the importance of not dropping your guard in the night. "And he's married now, with two adopted daughters, and with three more on the way."

"Three?" Rebecca asks with raised eyebrows and a surprised expression.

"Triplets, won't be due for another eight months or so," he says with a twist of his head.

"That's a big burden," the young girl says with a pretty furrow of her brow, worry on her features, and Tony stops scanning to look at her and reach across to touch her shoulder gently. She raises her eyes to look at him, and he notes the light freckles on her cheeks as she looks at him tentatively, unsure.

"I've learned a lot about my father in the last few weeks, and I assure you," he says with a solid look at her. "If he said he will take care of you, then you will be taken care of. And the woman, your mother, he will find a way to bring her to safety as well."

"You are certain?" she asks shyly, looking at him from under worried eyebrows.

Tony frowns tightly with a sigh and looks around as he thinks for a moment, buying time before answering.

"I thought my father had been dead, a Ranger in the Army who died before I was born," he says with a small shake of his head. "I dreamed in my head of what he was like, a hero, a soldier. I fantasized sometimes of what it would be like, if he were still around. Of having a dad, like my friends and classmates did."

He says the last wistfully, then twists his head in a rueful gesture, "But the reality of what he is… turned out to be more than anything I ever imagined. When my mother died, just after telling me, I had no plans, no idea what to do with my future. I had nothing else, so I sought him out, and I found his sister, my Aunt Autumn, first, before going to him. And she told me what he was like, from the beginning."

"I am sorry," Rebecca says, laying her own fingers gently on the fingerless gloves holding the bow, and Tony looks at her with a puzzled expression. "For your mother."

He nods and smiles tightly, "I told her to stop smoking, but she just couldn't quit. The cancer got her lungs, and we couldn't afford to pay medical bills. We could barely afford to eat. I loved her, but she's gone, and I have to keep on."

Rebecca squeezes his hand gently, and he looks at her hand over his, then nods and forces himself to glance around the perimeter, awkward and unsure.

"My father is an honorable man, and seems to know no other way to be," Tony resumes, glancing at her while looking around at the darkness for possible threats. "It will be okay, I promise," he says the last with a solid look in her eyes.

Rebecca nods, squeezes his hand one more time, then rises from the log and returns to her place in the camp, lying on her bedrolls to go back to sleep. Tony continues to scan the darkness for the remainder of his shift, fighting not to dream about green eyes, freckles and red hair.

Tony rides with Rebecca in the saddle behind him, Floki on in the trail position and Jark in the lead as they pass the ship outside the Bastion. Rebecca is an untrained rider, and the Vikings are better fighters, so it makes sense to have her ride double, not that Tony minded the red head's presence close to his own back. As they had neared, he had recognized a sharp whistle in the woods, a signal from sentries, then a complicated horn from the Bastion as they neared, a signal. As they grow nearer, a challenge is shouted from the battlements, and Jark shouts back a code word, the gates opening afterwards.

They ride into the Bastion and Tony notes but does not comment on Rebecca's gawking expression as she looks around at the small town inside the walls, his own expression similar a few weeks ago when he saw it for the first time. He helps her dismount then hops from the saddle himself, having worked on a horse farm part time since he was ten for extra money and food stuffs from the farm. Rebecca stays close to him as she looks around nervously, knowing if not recognizing that everyone in the gates are shapeshifters except them. Tony takes her hand and squeezes it reassuringly, and she nods while keeping her hand in his, staying close.

Tasha is walking down the front steps of the cabin as they walk from the horses, a teenage shapeshifter taking them to the stables. Tony had been nearly overwhelmed as he met his father, and similarly so with Tasha, though for far different reasons. In her late twenties, nearly thirty, her angular jaw seeming elvish, and strong features that are nearly masculine but have enough feminism to them to make them striking. Her hair is a dirty blond, always in a combination of tight braids and free flowing hair, styled and giving her an aggressive, dominant presence. Tony's initial impression had been of a Barbarian Queen from the fantasy books he had read, but had been surprised at the sharp mind and wit behind her appearance, as well as the motherly aspect he had witnessed as she interacted with Jocelyn and other children.

"What happened?" she says, not quite a demand, but close, her hand on her curved saber and a long brown leather duster over a blouse, leather vest and jeans.

"He told us to leave, and he swore that the girl would be taken care of," Floki says simply, gesturing at Rebecca, standing close and slightly behind Tony. "When we asked at the Viking Longhouse, they said it looked like Military took him, not Mercs or another faction. US Military."

Tasha frowns hard, "I'll send word, to our friend at Casa Blanca."

Floki nods, knowing she is meaning the First Lady of the United States, whom the Horde had helped through her transition into being a shapeshifter. Floki adds a subtle hand gesture and Tasha nods minutely, then tosses her head to the barn. Floki nods in turn and walks to the beams and platform to wait for her in a private audience. She turns to Tony and the red headed girl with him, noting the held hands and the scent of nervousness from the girl. She also recognizes the young man's stance and gaze, and she smirks slightly, seeing Richard in his son.

"Hello, my name is Tasha," she says gently as she walks up to the two, addressing the girl. "I'm Richard's wife. What's your name?"

The girl pauses before answering, glancing at Tony and continuing after his slight nod, "Rebecca DeFeur."

"May I call you Rebecca?" Tasha asks politely, and the girl nods. "Richard said we would take care of you, and we will. Are you hungry? Cold?"

"We ate a good breakfast," she says after a moment.

"That's good," Tasha says with a softer smile and a nod. "The Ragnarsons are good with a sword, but Floki is the only one of the two that can cook well."

"I cooked," Tony says with a small smile. "Omelets."

Tasha nods, unsurprised he cooks the same breakfast Richard does, "Well, let's find someplace to get you settled, then. I'll have a room made up for you, and we can talk in the house until then, after I have few words with Floki."

"We can wait at my place, until there's something ready," Tony says, glancing at Rebecca who nods immediately.

Tasha nods, understanding the byplay even if the teenagers do not, "I'll have someone stop by when it's ready. I think there's one a few doors down from yours, Tony, that's not being used. That may make Rebecca feel better, if you're nearby."

Rebecca nods at Tasha, "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Call me Tasha, please," she says with a grin. "I'm not that old, yet."

The girl smiles and laughs lightly, and Tony guides her away to wait, and Tasha takes a moment to watch them go. Less than a month, the young man is acting more and more like his father every day, and she wonders if he realizes it or not.

Tasha is standing on the platform of the barn, looking at the Bastion below her, the Council of Alphas behind her, gathering in the late afternoon light. She does not turn, but stares into the distance as she thinks over the details of the plan in her head, put in place by Richard and others before he left. It is complicated, has many weak points, areas where things can go horribly wrong and cause death and damage… but if even half the unsure parts go their way, they will come out ahead. She takes a deep breath and turns to the Alphas who are all standing on the platform, seats discarded for hasty meetings like this.

"The Khan has been taken," she says simply. "The US Military has him, as far as we know. I'm probing our contacts to find out more, and I ask you do the same, subtly. We know that his absence will upset some and cause others to become bolder."

"Who else knows?" Thomas Domasca asks, his mind thinking over the implications.

"The Ragnarsons, Tony and the girl they brought back with them," she says to the group.

"Is she a security threat?" Mischa asks, Alex beside her while Mitchell is gone, watching the Agoge.

"It doesn't look like it, but we'll keep her close to be sure," Tasha replies. "Just before he was captured, he gave Floki a single word. Subedai."

The Alphas all look puzzled, and Tasha takes a breath before continuing, "The Khan has made plans for a few contingencies in his absence. This is one of them. We will continue with our expansion and taking of New Orleans, and this is how…"

Maddie mutters the command word under her breath, the blade of her gladius flaring with low red flames as she holds it to the wet kindling. After a few moments, the wood and brush catches, the fire burning low and smoky in the night. The rain had hit again, and the high desert had sucked the heat out of the young shapeshifters camping in the West Texas desert. They had gritted their teeth and shivered in the night, but as midnight neared, the heavy rain that lasted an hour had sucked the last reserves from them.

Maddie is the squad leader for her group of candidates, eight of them total in the squad, one of four, and only thirty five remaining in the Agoge. She recognized the symptoms of early hypothermia through her own haze of exhaustion and chattering teeth when she had looked at another female in her squad. She had the group dig a pit on a mound to keep it away from the other lower puddles and ponds forming in the rain and cold, and had those able enough to gather whatever looked like it could burn. They are operating as a squad alone, the other squads doing the same, each with an instructor watching from the darkness as they patrol the border between Texas and Mexica.

The candidates huddle around the low fire to keep the light and heat from escaping, their cloaks wrapped around the outside of the ring of bodies as they soak up the heat. Last Maddie had seen, Joachim was still in, going with his squad on this latest phase of the training, and her prayers focus on both his and her success in the training.

Tony is lying on the couch in his house, looking at the ceiling absently in the night, hearing the activity of the Bastion clearly after being in the wild for so long. The walls and windows are not enough to muffle the people walking around and moving in the night. He gets up and dresses as quietly as he can, Rebecca asleep in his bedroom as she is not yet comfortable to be alone here yet. He only puts on sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt, then goes to the small yard in the back, brick markers on the ground instead of a wall separating it from the other yards and walkway paths between houses. He takes a breath and sets the katana Richard had given him to the side, jumping up and grabbing the pull up bar sticking out of the side of the house.

He does as many as he can, personally proud of beating his personal best so far, then drops on his toes and drops to his front, doing pushups with his breath steaming against the ground as he does. The air is chill in the December night but the exertion is pushing the cold at bay, and he is sweating when he finishes pushing out as many as he can, again proud at beating his best so far. He shifts to his back and braces his toes against the foundation of the house and carefully does situps against the wall, a controlled movement as he raises and lowers himself, angry as he is five short of his best when he collapses on the ground, gasping at the starry night sky.

He rises to his feet, breathing deep and sweating, pulling his sweatshirt off to show a long-sleeved t-shirt of medium thick cotton and a thin hood. He pulls the katana from the sheath and pulls the hood up over his head, striking a start pose for one of the many forms Richard has been teaching him. He starts with a simple set of attacks, parries and movements, focusing on his footing, as he is told that is his weakness. He does the practice kata twice in the night, the second time faster, then shifts directly into the next series of attacks and parries, a slightly more complicated series.

He shifts between the three forms he has memorized, careful to not lose the precision of where his blade is targeted. Everyone he has talked to had repeated the same advice over and over again, in different phrases, but the same meaning. _Focus on the fundamentals, make the basics instinct, repetition builds instinct_. That specific phrase one he has heard from Richard a few times during training, and he has taken the advice to heart. He finishes the fifth repetition of the three forms and eases his stance, flicking and spinning his blade to the side as taught, told that it flicks blood and residue from the blade after the fight. A light clapping comes from his back door and he turns to where Rebecca is sitting on the steps of the back door, closed behind her. She has on sweatpants and sweatshirt, the hood pulled up and looking disheveled but relaxed and comfortable, her hands tucked in the sleeves.

"That was cool," she says with a smile at him. "Where did you learn that?"

"Here," he says with a wave at their surroundings. "My dad had some friends of his teach me some, and he did as well."

"I thought you've only known him a few weeks?" she says with a curious tone as he picks up the scabbard and sheathes his sword.

"I learned basics before I got here, and they've taught me more," he says with an uncomfortable shrug. "That was actually bad form, especially that last set. My footing was off and I was unbalanced."

"Well, it looked good to me," she says with a smile, rising from the steps and heading inside with him following.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, setting the sweatshirt on the back of the small kitchen set of a table and two chairs, a breakfast nook, and she sits in the other.

"Unsettled," she says, looking at the window and beyond. "I miss the bayou."

Tony smiles at her accent, liking it, and going to the refrigerator, "Anything to drink?"

"Chocolate milk? Warm?" she asks, her tone hopeful.

"I have milk, no chocolate," he says apologetically. "This isn't my house, really. I'm just staying until I can figure out something more permanent."

"Warm milk is fine," she says with a smile. "What are you going to do, do you think?"

"Not sure," he says with a frown of his own, pouring milk into a pot and setting it over the gas stove. "I'm learning the bow and sword pretty well so far," he says slowly with a thoughtful frown. "I'll probably try working for the Merc Guild, maybe get some classes or certification so I can get paid better. I don't really know. Things are just sort of… happening."

He shrugs uncertainly with the last, and he pours two glasses of warm milk, returning to the kitchen table, handing one to Rebecca. His hand lingers for a moment as her fingers touch his and she looks up at him, slowly taking the glass while looking at him. He swallows nervously and sits across from her, sipping his own milk on a mouth gone dry.

"Yes, they are," she says with her own small smile, sipping her own milk and looking at him over the rim of the glass.

Tony clears his throat awkwardly, "What about you? What do you think you'll do, now that you're here?"

She blinks in surprise, looking to the side and shaking her head unconsciously and speaking slowly as well, "I don't know, I haven't given it much thought. Things have just been… happening."

She says the last with a slight smile and an amazed expression for a moment while looking at the window, lost in thought. Tony watches her think for a moment, then clears his throat.

"Well, my Aunt owns a magic shop in town, she's a Celtic Witch, and a strong one from what I know," he says with a twist of his head. "We could talk to her, see if she would hire you to work there, if you like. Go from there…"

He shrugs absently at the last, not wanting to push, and again awkward with what he had said, wondering if he is screwing this up, whatever this is. Rebecca reaches across and places a hand on his and smiles, and he smiles back, liking the look in her green eyes. She drinks the rest of her milk and stands, returning to bed, and he sits at the kitchen table and slowly finishes his own glass of milk, nervous and unsure.

Richard's eyes flutter open as sound reaches his consciousness, and he drifts from the semi-sleep state he was in to conserve energy. They have been feeding him a half ration a day, barely enough to keep a human from starving, much less a shapeshifter, and he has been resorting to meditation to slow his heartrate to slow the process of starvation. During the magic waves he delves deep into the magic, striving to keep his body from deteriorating despite the malnutrition. He is sitting in a lotus position, his jeans cut cleanly just above the knee, having used his partly shifted claws during magic when they could not look in on him to see how he did it. His t-shirt is gone, tattered by the regular visits by Walters who would fire a few shots at him with either the crossbow or a pistol. Richard had simply taken the punishment and said nothing, though some of the shots had caused him to fall or stumble due to simple mechanics.

The sound is not the normal feeding, though, but a pair of guards and a woman, a scent he does not recognize, though he recognizes the guards' scents. They stop in front of the cage, the two guards with shotguns up and pointed at him as they edge carefully into view and sight in on him, and he is certain that they are loaded with silver. He remains seated in a lotus position and takes a deep breath, his wrists resting easily on his knees and fingers touching softly as he studies the woman levelly.

She is in her mid-forties, wearing a lab coat, but he notes the scents of herbs, spices and miscellaneous ingredients, a mage or witch. A bit over five feet tall, a bit of padding and brown hair with a touch of gray pulled into a bun on her head and glasses hanging from her neck on a chain that has fake jewels mixed into it. He notes the symbols on the chain between the jewels, only two visible, and he nods internally, taking a deep breath as she looks at him pensively.

"Mr. Michaels…" she says pensively, holding a clipboard to her chest as she looks anxiously from the guards to him.

He closes his eyes and speaks in Yiddish, "Good day, ma'am. I presume you wish to speak to me about something?"

She blinks at his use of a language she knows, surprised and glancing at the guards, her brow furrowed. She collects herself and replies in English.

"I have some questions to ask you, about the sword you planted in the ground in Baton Rouge," the woman says, pulling a photo and turning it to show the sword stuck in the cobbles of the road.

Richard has his eyes open, having sensed her movement, and now studying the photo. His sword is stuck in a cobble six inches across, a pillar of dirt below it three feet deep in a crater, obviously someone tried to dig under it to remove it. He smiles internally, but his face remains impassive as he looks at the photo.

"It won't move, even during tech waves, the dirt won't be degraded further and no one can pull it free," she says with a frustrated sigh. "We even had a crane come in to try and pry it free, but the engine blew and the cable snapped, a five ton test cable… it snapped and killed three men… during a tech wave. How is that possible?"

"I am truly sorry for the loss of life," Richard says in Yiddish again with a tight expression, his anger flaring slightly, angry with Walters and whomever is pulling his strings. "But that all lies at the feet of whomever captured me and brought me here. I am not a criminal, nor an enemy of the US. I have not been charged with anything, not read my rights, nor told why I have been detained. I have done no wrong, and am an innocent in this matter."

The woman blinks, "But, they said you were a terrorist."

The guards glance at each other, and Richard snorts, the guards tensing and leaning forward slightly, and speaks again in English this time.

"My name is Richard Michaels, I am the Khan of Texas, leader of over a thousand shapeshifters and the CEO of Hoffman Resources, a multi-million dollar company which made the Fortune 500 list this year, and its rumored that I will make the cover of Time in the next three months," he says with a steady look at the woman in English. "I am friend and ally to the Rabbis and many others, including the President of the United States."

After a long moment of silence, the woman asks the question she and the guards are thinking, "Then why are you here?"

"I have not been told," he says evenly in Yiddish again, shaking his head slightly. "As to the question of 'How?', in regards to the sword, I recommend you ask your own Elders that question, and see what response you garner."

He closes his eyes and turns his palms upwards, fingers touching slightly and he slows his breathing again, dismissing the woman though she is outside the cage, and he within it.

Maddie is standing in a small clearing with the remainder of the candidates of the Agoge, over two months having passed since that first day at the Bastion. Their number had dwindled since that first day, and now there are only thirty two left, and she had hidden the excitement she had felt at seeing Joachim walk into the clearing with his squad. They had only shared a glance, a brief nod and small smile, then returned to their tasks, knowing eyes are watching and the instructors would punish fraternization harshly. Now they are in a formation with their remaining kit and equipment laid out on the grass, no idea where they are geographically, as the instructors had simply told them to keep up and taken off towards the east.

Most of the candidates are swaying slightly on their feet, blinking in the late morning light, clouds patchy overhead. The forced march had lasted five days, and the candidates wonder what the next test will be, as they are certain there will be one. Mitchell, Clan Cat Alpha, is in front of the formation and he looks back and forth as he studies them. He is wearing canvas cargo pants and a leather vest, a gladius on his hip as he looks at the candidates, measuring them as he scrutinizes each individual.

"The initial selection process of the Agoge is at an end," he says firmly, looking at the exhausted formation. "The Khan wanted to be here, to congratulate you on your strength, your perseverance, when so many of your _peers_ ," he says the word with a sneer, "failed to stay the course."

"Unfortunately, he has been kept by matters of the Horde elsewhere," he says with a sad twist of his head. "But his wishes for you were simple and direct," he continues with a firm tone, a flash of his eyes and direct look at the candidates, four local shapeshifters coming up behind him with large crates between them, three more setting up set of barrels with taps on them.

"Congratulations on successfully completing the Spartan Phase of the course. The Khan's message in regards to this phase is simple: Remember that one person is not much different than another, and that he who is best, is the one who is trained in the severest of schools. Centurion Training begins in the morning," he says as the crates are opened, and the scent of roasted boar and grilled beef waft out, all the eyes of the formation fixed on the meat in the packaged feast before them. "For tonight, eat, enjoy your success, drink and be happy. Tomorrow you will be tested again, and the tasks will grow harder and more complicated, so I warn you not to overdo yourself tonight."

He nods with the last and looks to the candidate leaders, "Squad Leaders, organize lines and no fighting. Punishments will be dire."

He says the last with a growl and flash of his eyes, to which everyone lowers their gazes and nods, understanding the threat.

He walks away and the candidates eagerly line up in lines for the feast, picking up simple steel platters and mugs for their food and drink. The instructors move off from the group, and soon the mood becomes more relaxed, if not festive, as there is no music, but the responsibilities of security and vigilance are lifted for the night.

Maddie is talking easily with members of her squad when a scent catches her nose and she nods to the others while ducking away, and she moves to where Joachim waits a few yards distant. She takes his hands in hers, closing the distance and kissing him softly before holding him tight for a moment. They hold each other for a long moment before backing up a touch to look at each other, a few of the other candidates in similar embraces.

"I didn't know you were going to try out for the Agoge," Joachim says with a tight expression. "I've been worried about you."

She snorts, "I've been more worried about you, that they'd be harder on you, because of me."

He shakes his head tightly, "It's hard, that's for sure. But then again, it's not like this is a vacation."

She snorts at that, "Stay strong, for me."

"I will," he says softly, kissing her on the lips briefly before hugging her again, savoring the scent of her hair in his nostrils, dirty but smelling of her.

Tony is pulling arrows from his quiver and firing at the target twenty yards distant while Floki randomly tosses baseballs at him. Tony is jumping, twisting and turning to avoid the slowly tossed balls while firing, and when his quiver is empty, Floki looks at the target.

"Not bad," he says with a nod. "All but one on the target. Not bad at all, but too slow."

Tony is breathing deep, reaching for a pitcher of water on a short stool nearby, at the Viking village for the training. They are in a moderately wooded area, trees and underbrush abundant, the sounds of others living and working not far off. Tony is frowning and about to rebut the other when a man enters the small clearing.

The man is about six and a half feet tall, wide in the shoulders, slim in the waist and with blond hair hanging limp to his shoulders. He is wearing blue jeans, white t-shirt with a royal blue leather vest, a 1911 pistol on his thigh and axe on the opposite hip with a small knife. He walks to Floki with a smile.

"Odinson," Floki says with a nod of respect. "It is good to see you."

"Well met," Thor says with a grin, shaking Floki's hand, then turning his blue gaze on Tony, who is looking back with curiosity. "Is this he? The unknown son?"

"I am Richard Michael's son," Tony says solidly with a nod.

Thor nods while frowning and studying the young man, "You look like him, though a bit thinner, but you are young. Still time to get some muscle on you."

"Who are you?" Tony asks, eyes narrowed.

"I am Thor, Son of Odin, Prince of Asgard," he replies with a grin.

Tony looks at him skeptically, glancing at Floki whose expression is still serious, and Tony tries to figure out what is going on.

"You are confused," Thor says with an easy smile. "Gods are not meant to roam the world in your view, so meeting one is disconcerting."

"Uh, yeah," Tony says with a reluctant nod.

"Tell me what you know about the magic waves," Thor says with a smile and a gesture, a command, not a request, and Tony replies through his surprise and not realizing the tone Thor had used.

"The magic and tech come in waves, when one is in charge, the other can't work," he says, succinctly put.

"The waves are like the tide," Thor says with a pointed finger and intense gaze through his smile and beard. "But even at low tide the water is there, just hard to get to. The same is with the magic, and if you are strong enough with magic, you can use it, some, even when the tide has ebbed the other way."

Tony is frowning dubiously, "I don't understand."

"Watch," Thor says, straightening. "The tech is in charge, right?"

"Yes," Tony says, and Thor twists and reaches behind him, and a moment later a short handled warhammer flies over the trees and into his hand.

Tony flinches as Thor smiles and bears his large headed hammer in front of him.

"I am the god of the storm, and Mjolnir is mine, it will answer my call no matter what," Thor says with a smile, then dropping the hammer's head on the ground.

Tony watches the hammer firmly plant itself on the even ground and stares for a moment. After a pause he whispers, "Richard…"

Thor is looking at him with narrowed eyes, "You saw your father do something similar, I'd wager."

"He called his sword to his hand," he says with a nod, still mentally catching up. "But the magic was down."

"Krigsherre," Thor says with a nod. "Millennia ago, the gods created a precious metal unlike anything found in Midgard, on earth," Thor says, gesturing them to follow him as he tells his story.

"This metal, called Uru, was forged in the heart of a dying dwarf star, and only a small amount was the result, as awesome as its properties were," he says, leading them down an unevenly cobbled road between low log dwellings that mix old Viking architecture with modern design and utilities.

"Mjolnir is crafted of Uru, and gifted with enchantments by the All-Father, Odin One-eye," Floki says in the pause as they walk.

"My father is the only other that can wield Mjolnir," Thor says proudly over his shoulder as they walk to a larger house than the others, and Tony pauses to stare at the ornaments across the front of the high ceilinged single story house.

A partially shattered stone mace from some ancient pantheon is hung over the threshold on steel hooks, and planted in the ground to the side like a pole is a fifteen foot long double bladed battle axe. He forces himself to not gape and follows the other two inside.

"My father and I revealed ourselves to Richard, and I was less than respectful," Thor says simply, a slight frown on his face. "I did not see him for what he was. And he was not intimidated by my presence, not afraid nor cowed. He stood toe to toe with me and demanded a trial by combat."

Tony blinks for a moment, entering a long hall behind Floki and Thor, empty of diners but attendants moving in as they do to set food and drink on the table.

"What happened?" he asks after a pause, Thor waiting for the question.

"We made a wager, and fought, man on man, with no weapons, no magic," Thor says, turning and looking directly at Tony with his arms crossed, his face now firm, not jovial. "He is one of a very few to ever have bested me in single, unarmed combat. He won the bout, and the wager."

"What was the wager?" Tony asks after slightly less of a pause, picking up the method of the conversation.

"That the All-Father craft him a weapon," Thor says with a smile as he sits at the large chair at the head of the table, gesturing the other two younger men to sit as well. "So, Odin took the last of the Uru, and he crafted Krigsherre, a weapon personalized just for Richard, a curved, heavy blade with enchantments of the All-Father upon it."

"You've said that twice, that word," Tony says, eyes narrowing as he leans forward on the table. "What does it mean?"

"It means 'Warlord', in the old tongue," Thor says with a slow smile. "And it is a word that fits your father better than any other, I think."

Autumn is sitting at the front table in her shop, her mind on subjects far afield from her simple herb and spell shop. Richard is missing still, two weeks now, and all she knows for sure is that he is alive and relatively well, as far as her scrying can tell. Tasha has hair to scry his location, but she is holding off for some reason, and she is growing frustrated with the woman, Rich's wife or not. The bell of her shop door rings and she turns to find a surprising visitor, Josef, a Rabbi of the Jewish Temple.

"Ahh, Autumn O'Connell, just the woman I was looking for," the Rabbi says with a forced smile, speaking low in Yiddish, a few other customers in the shop. "You must come with me, we must speak with you. It is of great urgency."

"I'm the only one minding the store, Josef," Autumn responds in the same language, nodding to him in respect with her hands clasped in front of her. She is a regular visitor at the Temple's library, and she works hard to stay on their good side, their temperaments sometimes unsteady and unpredictable.

His expression is pensive for a moment, and he nods, "Very well. When would you be able to come? At your earliest?"

"After close," she says, curious what could make one of the ten most senior Rabbis in the city come to her store and urgently ask her to come to the Temple. "About ten thirty or so."

"Bring an escort," Josef says with a nod and leaves with an additional bob of his head.

Autumn frowns after he leaves, having hating to be told what to do, but after a moment's thought, agrees with the suggestion. That late at night, the meeting will go long, and the Temple is close to Pegasus Way. She really should have someone with her, just in case, probably a security guy from the Horde. Or…

She smiles and walks to the phone, the tech up and she calls Tony's number from memory.

"Thanks for the help, Tony," Autumn says as they ride down the dark Houston streets on a pair of horses Autumn owns.

She is riding a chimeria colored horse with lean legs and body, while Tony is on a roan gelding of a stockier build. Autumn has on her usual jeans and cotton blouse with a knit red sweater and a long heavy wool cloak against the cold and two inches of snow. Tony is in heavy denim cargo jeans with a pair of black military boots, a grey sweatshirt with hood and a dark green heavy cloak over his shoulders. He has his katana on his hip, a quiver on his back and bow in hand, the tech down and magic ruling the world.

"You should have gotten someone better than me," he comments from where he rides in front of her, his eyes searching the dark alcoves and alleys as they pass. "I just filled out the paperwork to be registered with the Guild today, still owe my monthly dues."

"You will be fully registered soon," Autumn says with a smile at the young man's back. "And when you do, it will be nice to have a good recommendation or two to go with you, besides who you trained with."

"You're family, I don't think your recommendation counts," he says, his eyes narrowed and searching for movement as they pass another alley.

"Not technically, and besides, I'm not going to flourish. If you suck, I'll put it in the review," she says firmly, and he chuckles.

"Thanks, Aunt A," he says with a smile, still searching the darkness with occasional glances behind them.

Soon they are at the gates of the Temple, and Tony fights not to stare at the twenty five foot tall stone minotaur that is staring down at him with glowing blue eyes through a helmet. He dismounts and holds Autumn's horse for her as she dismounts and after checking her into the guardhouse sets the horses into the stable set aside for guests. He pauses in the courtyard before entering the main doors, staring for a moment at the backside of the creature guarding the front gate of the Temple. He shakes his head and goes into the lobby, out of the light flakes of snow falling from the sky.

He walks in and Autumn is standing next to a desk and nods to him with a smile, gesturing to the woman at the desk.

"Tony, I'd like you to come with me, which means you need to leave your weapons," she says, waving at where her own sword, dagger and throwing spikes are lying in a bin behind the desk, locked in a filing cabinet.

"But," he pauses, looking directly at Autumn. " _He_ gave me this sword."

"They will give it back," she says firmly, keeping eye contact with him. "Ask her."

He turns to the woman in her mid-twenties behind the desk, his eyes curious, and the dark haired woman speaks with a smile before he can speak.

"We protect our Rabbis, no weapons are allowed inside by anybody except by very special circumstances. I can have a Rabbi give a blood oath on the return of your sword, if you require it," she says pleasantly, and Autumn is internally pensive, the Temple is being far too accommodating.

"I'd be much more comfortable," he says with a tight frown. "I don't mean any disrespect, but, well, it's the only real thing of value I own. It was my father's."

The woman's eyebrow rises ever so slightly, but Autumn catches it and nods, then turns and walks to the back. Autumn's mind is racing further and further, the web and drama getting thicker and thicker. The woman returns with Josef, who is smiling amicably, turning from Autumn to Tony.

"I understand the young man is questioning the return of his sword," Josef says with an agreeable, charming smile. "I assure you, so long as you leave without causing harm to anyone or anything of great value, everything will be returned to you in exactly the same condition."

Tony nods slowly, then turns to Autumn, "I'll wait in the lobby, if that will serve the client's wishes. You will be safe inside, with or without me."

Autumn blinks, surprised at the statement, and confirming internally that he will earn that good recommendation when she writes it. She turns to Josef, but he now has a pensive look on his face.

"Actually… the Rabbis, now that they see who has escorted you, would like an audience with him, as well," Josef says with a tight smile.

Autumn's expression is tight, and Tony only frowns, his mind working to catch up. She turns back to Josef and speaks to pre-empt anything Tony can say.

"You will have to give him a blood oath on the conditions," she says with a firm look at Josef. "He will do the same for his behavior."

Josef makes a face as though he bit in a lemon, then his expression stretches into a tight smile, nodding at Tony, "Just like his father."

A few minutes later, the oaths done, Tony and Autumn are following Joseph into the main room of the Temple, a large domed room with seven elder Rabbis in a semi-circle around a pair of chairs. Three of the Rabbis seated have old, gnarly looking staves in hand, and Tony figures it is reasonable, as Autumn as kept her staff. Then he wonders why she kept her staff but he had to give up the sword, a staff is a weapon as well.

"Ms. O'Connell, we are glad you were able to come and speak with us," the Rabbi on the edge of the circle says, one of the junior elders, says.

"I am glad to be able to answer any questions the Elders may have," she says in Yiddish, sitting in the right hand seat now, Tony trying not to fidget in the left one. "But the circumstances and arrangements are odd. I hope there is nothing wrong."

"There is much wrong," the shriveled old man with long curls from his head wheezes from the center chair. "Your Khan is being held by the Lightkeepers, for purposes only partially known."

Autumn's eyes widen at the blank statement, and Tony leans forward, realizing the statement but not understanding it fully.

"Who are the lightkeepers? And why did they take my dad?" he asks, not thinking the questions through.

The oldest Rabbi chuckles dryly, "We had thought as much, though he is human. A bastard, we presume?"

Tony bridles, but Autumn puts a hand towards him and he bites his tongue, "My brother did not know of him, his mother kept him a secret from Richard. We only just discovered him as family. I will explain the rest to him later. Tell me, what do you mean 'for purposes partially known'?"

"A member of the military used US Army assets and personnel to capture the Khan, knowing he would not attack a US Soldier, much less a Ranger," a younger but still grey haired Rabbi answers from the right side. "They then transferred him to a holding area just outside Baton Rouge, but have moved him again since we received our information. His sword still rests in a cobblestone in the middle of the street where he placed it, and no one can remove it, which is how we came to know."

Autumn nods slowly with a small smile, "They couldn't figure it out, so they hired a Mage Academy student or a scholar, and they happened to be a member of your congregation."

"She spoke with the Khan," another Rabbi says, this one with black still streaking his curls. "He told her to ask the Elders of Richard Michaels, and when she did, it came to our attention."

Autumn processes the information, then asks carefully, "I'm concerned what they could do with Richard alive, that they couldn't do with him dead."

"As are we," the center elder says with a very direct and focused expression on Autumn. "We all saw what the chaos demon of ancient times did with a human knight to sacrifice. Imagine if a First was slain…"

Autumn shakes her head before he even finishes, and speaks in a firmer tone than she has ever used on the Elders, usually reserved for when she is scolding Maddie or Jocelyn.

"No," she says firmly with a set jaw. "Richard has been in more impossible situations over the last twenty years in which _no one_ should have survived… I refuse to worry about him. Nothing is impossible, which means it is possible to get out, escape, or survive. Richard will find it, he always has, and he will now, as well."

The eldest Rabbi looks at her intently through his thinning curls, his chin up and looking down his nose at her. After a few long breaths he speaks in Yiddish.

"You truly believe that? That he will not perish?" the Rabbi asks, and Autumn hears an unknown tone from him, real curiosity.

"Without a doubt, I believe it," she responds in the same language, her own chin lowered and nearly glowering at the Rabbi. "If he needs assistance, he'll let us know. Until then, we carry on as he instructed."

The old rabbi looks at her evenly, and she meets his gaze steadily, not backing down or relenting, and the Rabbi nods firmly.

"We have information on those who rule New Orleans in truth, if not by law," he says, gesturing to the side where Josef emerges with a thick file in his hands. "We share it with you in the hopes that our Temples in the lower Louisiana area will be able to be raised again."

"The khan is tolerant of all religions and sects, so long as they do not practice the dark arts and violate human rights," Autumn says, a standard reply on the tolerance level of the Horde.

Autumn is sitting at the conference table on the second floor of Hoffman Resources, frowning at the packet that has just been passed around the table to a select number of members from the Horde. Tasha, Mischa, Alex, Noel, the Domascas, the Rat Alphas and the new Lissome Alphas, a pair of gay were-mongooses. She leans forward, Tasha having greeted everyone and thanking them for attending, then introducing Autumn unnecessarily and gesturing her to continue.

"The Rabbis were able to add to the general information that we already had on the New Orleans area," she says, gesturing to the packet. "Before the shift, it was a deep Creole and French influenced town, and in a way, it still is. The difference is the pantheon that has dominated the area. And some things need to be remembered and some other geographic details as well."

She flips a page and the others do likewise, so she continues, "In the flare eight years ago, the dams broke and a month long magic wave consumed the city and left magic creatures, monsters and beings in its wake. When the water settled, Kalypso ruled the river delta."

"The Greek witch/goddess Kalypso?" Bridgette asks, the wolf Alpha, sitting next to her husband, Thomas Domasca.

"She seized New Orleans and the surrounding area, and has spent years solidifying her stance there, as well as placing footholds in the Caribbean, where she was successful due to the relative youth of the Voudun culture in the area. She's brought a couple creatures from Greek myth with her, notably the Hydra and Scylla, the multiheaded dragon which guards the New Orleans port against illegal shipments, and other variants in other ports in the islands," she gives the high points, noting that the entire table is reading or skimming the document while half listening. "She also brought with her Charybdis, in the form of a whirlpool that is draining through the port bay area, which maintains the below sea level living area of New Orleans' downtown area, and the thousands that live there."

She takes a breath before continuing, "Part of the reason that the US Government hasn't pushed her hard is because they believe that if she falls, the whirlpool will go away, and then thousands will die in the drowning of the bay area."

"So the aim is not to destroy her, but to work out a deal, and get her to deal with the US Government," Tasha says with a glance at the others in the room. "The President has sent us letters of representation, and some bargaining points on his behalf. But the intent and end-state is clear, New Orleans is to be an open city again."

"Baton Rouge is still a hold out for Voudun, but is weakening, and past that area we'll be in truly hostile territory," Autumn resumes the last of her piece as she looks around at them all again, and Tasha raises her eyes to look at Autumn.

"We? This is a Horde expansion, you don't have to come," she says, not quite neutrally, but enough to allow Autumn an out if she wanted to.

"I have to go," she responds firmly, her hand touching the staff at her side while looking solidly at Tasha. "He's my brother, which makes this family business."

Tasha nods after a moment, knowing she means the Curse of Babylon, and turns to the rest of the table.

"The plan the Khan called for to take the region has started in motion, the facts surrounding the Khan's captivity changes nothing," she says firmly. "We all know that Richard only stays somewhere if he allows it, so there is a method to the madness, we just don't it see yet."

"Just as we don't see the reasons behind these warrior activations?" the Lissome were-mongoose Alpha asks, leaning forward on his lean elbows, a half white, half Japanese descent and lean, standing just over six feet tall. "We are courting war, and looking at the information we had, even before the update from the Rabbis, we are outnumbered."

"Watch your tone," Jameson, the dirty blond woman in a fine but slightly blocky suit to accommodate her muscular figure, snarls with a flash of red in her eyes. "The Khan and Nimir-ra see what you do not. Do not doubt them."

"I just don't see how we can win against this 'Kalypso' with the paltry few we can bring compared to what we know she has," the man, Jim, continues, looking at a clipboard beside him he uses to keep pertinent info so he does not misquote. "There are almost no other significant religious factions of power in the region, and all the shapeshifters answer to her, those we know about. Their pack in the area disappeared years ago, and though we think that there are shapeshifters, no one has any solid reports of what they are."

"As the Bouda Alpha said, we have additional information you do not," Tasha says with a smirk and a twist of her head. "And I will _not_ explain further, nor share the information, as it is… sensitive. We will meet again tomorrow for the weekly update."

She stands and the other Alphas all rise, even though some harbor silent doubts of mounting an offensive with the Khan absent.

Tony is sitting in his living room reading a book on the code of Bushido, the Japanese warriors from the Middle Ages, when a knock comes from his door. He puts the book aside and goes to the door and opens it to find Jark and Floki on his doorstep, dressed in their usual mix of old and new tactical and battle gear. He gestures them in and closes the door behind them.

"Are you busy tonight?" Jark asks, flopping down heavily on the couch in the living room, reaching over and picking up the book to read the cover.

"Not really," Tony says with narrowed eyes, Floki looking at him with a smirk and crossed arms.

"We have a contract pending from the Guild, thought you may like to come along," the dark haired young man says, running a hand over his slicked back hair. "We know you registered and got a good review for your guard status, but you don't have any proven combat time, yet."

" 'Tis time to change that!" Jark says with a grin. "There's a small group of bandits to the east of town, in the marshes near the coast. They don't hit anything big, but have harassed regular travelers. We mean to end that."

"County Sherriff put out a bounty, Rangers have placed one on the leader of five thousand, alive, half that if dead," Floki adds. "We could probably handle it on our own, but we thought you'd like to come, get your feet wet on something simple."

Tony nods, fighting to hide his nervousness, gesturing to his spare room, "I'll gear up. Beer's in the fridge, the honey stuff you like."

Jark nods and goes to the kitchen as Tony goes to the spare room that has his equipment and weapons. He comes out wearing denim cargo pants, sweatshirt with a reinforced leather vest and his green cloak over his shoulders. He has the katana on his hip with throwing knives on the vest and a pair of Norse hand axes on his belt as well, quiver on his back. He picks up his bow by the front door as the two Vikings tilt back the beer bottles they have been drinking and finish them.

Jark burps loudly through his bushy dark blond beard as Floki covers his mouth to burp as well, chuckling at his half-brother as he does. The three walk to the nearby stable, where the Ragnarsons retrieve their horses they had stabled and Tony grabs a horse of his own. Shortly, they are trotting out the gates of the Bastion, and Tony tries not to think about being the rookie on a contract.

Tony stands in the nearly knee high muck in the marshes east of Houston, the cold water in his boots and mud heavy on his jeans. They had to tie up the horses a few miles ago, Jark leading them into the trees and thickening brush towards the area the bandits have been raiding. They plan to circle around the backside of the area they use, see if they can find a trail or camp to raid, and if not, use the maps of the area to stage an ambush in the area. Jark stops in mid-swing in the late afternoon light, pausing to look at the small patch of land ahead of them, gesturing with his other hand.

Tony peers ahead of him, Floki behind bringing up the rear, and he nods to himself, spying the footprints clear in the mud. They are heading east, towards the road, where the bandits have been hitting the travelers. Floki moves up as Tony and Jark spread to the sides, Jark pulling a pair of throwing axes from his belt as he scans the wilderness, Tony doing the same with his bow. Floki looks at the footprints, studying them and shifting them with his fingertips, then rubbing the vegetation in his fingers and looking at the surrounding plants.

"They came through this morning, after dawn," Floki says with a low voice and a nod. "I think we should backtrack their trail, head to their camp, wait for them to return around dusk, then hit them."

"Sounds righteous," Jark says with a nod, gesturing Floki to lead now, as they need his tracking skills in the front.

Tony follows in the center again, not thinking of what they are going to do to the bandits when they find them, but concentrating on being quiet and scanning the trees around them. He has been training with sword and bow for weeks now, and been reading more and more on the Bushido code that Richard had recommended. As well as the works of Marcus Aurelius, and he has become a bit conflicted as he studies the philosophy while training to fight, to kill.

He asked Aunt Autumn why Richard killed people, what was his reason? She had frowned hard before responding, shaking her head slowly before she answered.

"You make it sound like he wants to," she had said with a frown, her tone sad. "He's a soldier, and he's good in a fight, no one can deny that. But he doesn't do it because he wants to hurt people, but because he wants to protect people, his family, his friends, the Horde."

He has a hard time coming to grips with that, the dual nature of fighting, killing, to help and protect people. The more he reads, though, and the more he hears the stories of the things Richard has done since taking charge, he has realized the truth of it. He has killed monsters, both human and magical, but he also built so much, provided a safer place for the shapeshifters and the people of Houston and Texas to live in. The company he runs employs thousands of people in Houston alone, improved the economy, and he ordered the shapshifters to provide Good Samaritan services to their neighbors.

He had not understood, until he had visited Hoffman's for lunch with Tasha and Alex one day, and seen what the local deli, owned by humans, did with the shapeshifters. The humans had been polite and nicer to them than the normal patrons, and he had come to find out that the Horde had people stop by to help with stocking, rid them of vermin and rodents, as well as help recommend any specialty services. The Horde treated the humans not as less or as outsiders, but as neighbors. The owners of the deli, a Jewish couple, paid for help, but had confessed to Tony that their son had been bullied by others at school for his grades. The shapeshifters at the school intervened and their son no longer gets harassed.

Tasha and Alex had begged it off as nothing, but he could see the difference in this community and the one he'd grown up in, a gulf between the two groups living within yards of each other. The Horde is separate here, but they are not apart from the community, they have integrated themselves with the people they live with. Jocelyn had been the best source of information about that, pointing out that Richard hates bullies, and does not tolerate that behavior in the Horde in any way.

Since coming to Houston, he has learned more about his father than he had ever dreamed, and now he wants to live up to the expectations placed before him. His father rights the wrongs of others, he is an honorable fighter, and Tony is determined to follow in those footsteps, to not disappoint. With that conviction in his heart, he follows Floki in the marsh, his bow at the ready as he scans the trees and brush for possible ambushes.

Tony is crouched next to a tangle of brush next to a tree with water up to his waist as the light starts to fade from the day. Floki is twenty yards to his right in a similar position in the marsh, Jark between the two archers and all three looking at the slightly raised mass of dirt and cleared area thirty yards away. The open area is hidden by the thick brush around it and short, stubby, leafy trees, and there are five low tents erected on the mound, a fire pit dug in the center with a pile of deadwood to one side.

They found the camp an hour ago, reconned the area, and had set up on the side with the entrance, hidden from sight by their green cloaks and the vegetation. Shapeshifters might detect their scents, though they had masked that with other marsh stinks, but their outlines are broken up and hidden, making them nearly invisible in the gathering gloom. So they sit and wait, watching and listening intently as the faint sound of movement creeps towards them. Five minutes pass, and the first figure passes within five yards of Tony, a large man six feet tall and wide, a thick stomach covered with patches of thick leather and the light chinking of chainmail.

Seven more men pass through the entrance to the camp, each large men with an axe or sword in hand, patchwork armor over their bodies. Tony narrows his eyes in the dim light and studies them as they go about making camp, speaking in a grunting language he does not recognize. Their dress and armor tugs at his mind, though, and after a few moments of thinking, he realizes they are dressed as traditional Vikings with no new tech, as the local Neo-Vikings do. He glances to where he knows Jark and Floki are, but sees neither, and focuses back at the camp.

Floki would initiate with a shot from the dark, and he and Jark would then close with the camp and fight in close quarters, as the tech is down. Floki would continue to shoot as the attention was on him and the half-brother. Tony is nervous, but he pushes the thought of what he about to do from his mind as he absently rubs his right hand on his cloak, drying his sweaty palm. They sit in the gathering gloom as a fire is started in the center of the camp, casting the tents in figures in flashes of firelight.

A slight sound flips through the night, and the biggest of the men stumbles to the side, a slight shadow sticking from his neck. He burbles a shout into the early night, the arrow cutting through his neck but not the spine. Another arrow arcs out to the same man, but Tony is pushing past the brush he is hiding behind, slugging on partially numb feet to the camp. Jark is beside him doing the same and yelling a war cry as he does, the camp's attention on him now as they emerge from the marsh.

Tony pulls and fires an arrow at the nearest Viking, the first man who had entered the camp, and the arrow slices through the man's arm. The man roars and charges, heedless of the injury, and Tony slips on seating the next arrow to the string, fumbling to get the groove on the string. He manages to seat it and pull it awkwardly back with the bow horizontal and fires a half strong shot into the man's stomach, which he takes with a grunt five yards away. The man raises his axe high with another roar and chops down, and Tony dives to the side as the man's massive swipe misses him by bare inches.

He rolls to his side, not his feet, and he scrabbles to stand, but stops and simply pulls another arrow and firing at the man as he turns. The arrow skips off the man's pauldron, lost in the distance, Tony fires again and again, planting an arrow in the man's shoulder twice, high on the man's left side. The man roars incoherently and snaps the arrows off and charges, Tony rolling to the side and finally to his feet, but his bow discarded. Tony leans back and to the side, barely avoiding another chop from the axe and stumbles as his hand lands on the katana on his hip. The grip in his hand steadies him for a moment, and he pulls the blade from its sheath in the practiced movement of the drills he has learned, shifting his feet to their proper place and setting for the attack to come.

The man lunges forward and chops with the large axe one handed, the left arm nearly useless from injury, but the attack still strong. Tony parries the axe aside with his own blade, instinctively shifting to the side and slashing horizontally, his blade slicing through the man's armor and opening his stomach. He has no time to think of his actions, though, as another man is on him with a broadsword and shield, forcing him to back up while parrying and blocking.

A shield bash from the man nearly knocks him from his feet, but he manages to twist to the side and roll, coming up with a low backhanded slash to his left, cutting deep in the man's right knee. The man cries out and falls to the dirty ground, the leg nearly severed, and Tony rises into a ready position, looking for the next threat. There are no threats left, however, Jark standing with a bloody pair of axes in his hands, and with the others in the camp scattered around dead or dying. Floki is striding from the marsh with an arrow on the string of his bow.

"That one there," Floki says, gesturing to the one Tony had crippled. "He's the leader. We should tourniquet that leg, so we can get the better bounty."

"You're bleeding, brother," Jark says as he walks to Tony, pointing to his left thigh.

Tony looks down at a gash on his leg, and that's when the pain hits him, as well as a sense of lightheadedness. He stumbles to the side, and Jark grabs him with a gruff chuckle.

"It will pass," Jark says with a good natured frown and a nod. "It happens to everyone, the first time. If you must be sick, do it to the side, and take care not to do it on your wounds."

Tony is looking around at the dead bodies and fighting his gorge while the sharp pain of his leg throbs in time with his head. He settles to the ground and fights not to vomit as Jark pulls out a bandage and roughly but efficiently applies it to his injured leg.

Autumn is in early to open the shop, but pauses as she reaches the front door, a dark trail of liquid on the doorstep. She crouches down and looks in the early morning gloom, recognizing a trickle of blood as well as mud. The magic is up, and she reaches out and touches her ward, noting it is down, which causes her to pause in thought. If it had been broken, she would have felt it, meaning someone she gave access to lowered it, a list of only five people, all those she trusts. She keeps her staff ready as she enters the shop with a ring of the bells, following the thinning trail of dirt and blood to the back, the kitchen.

She finds Tony leaning against the counters on the floor, his cloak hung over a chair as he sits with his left leg extended, a smear of blood on the tile floor beneath him. He looks up at her from under his dark eyebrows, and she is thrown back twenty years to the day she found Richard in the backyard tree not long after he killed their father. Shocked as she is by his injury and the haunted look in his eyes, she simply frowns tightly and walks to the closet, pulling out the cleaning supplies and first aid gear she has set aside for these types of emergencies.

"Off the floor," she orders, pulling out a chair from the heavy table in the middle of the kitchen. "Let's change out that bandage, see if I can stop the bleeding."

Tony does not argue, but shoves himself off the floor to the chair, grunting as Autumn carefully and precisely cuts the bandage off his leg. She is contemplating her words as she starts to clear off the bandage, and speaks softly while she works.

"Was it a contract?" she asks, glancing at him with a hooded gaze before returning to work.

He nods, though she does not see it, "The Ragnarsons came and brought me on a contract for a group of bandits in the eastern marshes. We killed everyone but the boss, who I crippled."

Autumn nods, glancing at him and holding his eyes for a moment, "Your first time taking a man's life, I presume?"

He takes a tight breath and looks away, wiping at his eyes and rubbing his nose, then nodding while still looking away.

"I've killed animals, a couple monsters, but never another person before," he confesses, his voice tight.

Autumn can catch the faint scent of bile, and guesses he vomited not long after it happened. She only nods at his admittance, continuing to work on his leg.

"Richard looked a bit like you, after he killed his first man," Autumn says solemnly, looking at the wound and noting that the bleeding has mostly stopped. "I didn't see him after, no one did for a few days, the police were looking, but not hard. When he came back, he had a look in his eyes, and he was different."

Tony watches Autumn bandage for a moment, "I thought he was in the Army, that was where he learned to kill people."

Autumn snorts, "Richard, or Anthony as I knew him then, was taught nothing, he learned it himself, the hard way. Killed a man when he was barely in high school, then hunted and took up contracts with the Merc Guild by lying about his age. He's the reason my sister and I didn't starve as we struggled to graduate ourselves."

"What about…" he pauses from asking the question, only having glimpses of the childhood of his father and aunt.

"Our mother was weak, she was not strong enough, and the first man Richard ever killed was our father," Autumn says with a tight, emotionless smile at him. "Our father was an abusive alcoholic, he did very bad things to my sister and I, and killed two of our brothers who never lived to see ten years. Richard almost didn't."

Tony opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, knowing nothing he says will be enough. So they sit in silence as Autumn washes the wound a bit, then pulls out needle and thread for stitches. After a bit of silence, Tony speaks quietly again, knowing he is having a close moment with Autumn.

"How does he do it?" he asks, his face puzzled. "He kills easily, I get that he's good at it, but doesn't he feel anything afterwards?"

Autumn ponders his words for a few moments, continuing to stitch up the five inch wound with small stitches to reduce the scar that will remain.

"He feels it every time, straight to his core," she says with a frown and a sigh filled with feeling. "But he knows that he is protecting innocent people by doing what he does. He's making things better by his actions, and he is assuming the responsibility so others don't have to bear the burden."

Tony thinks this over, "Is it hard for him?"

Autumn smiles tightly and pauses in her stitching to look up at him, "Don't you mean 'For you?'…"

He blinks in surprises, and she resumes her stitching, "I am older than him, and after our father passed, Richard was not the only one to come out of his shell. I don't like to fight, but I learned, and I've done consulting with Merc Guilds. I've killed my fair share of villains and monsters in my life."

"So, is it?" he asks, now looking at her carefully.

She sighs, knowing that Richard would have wanted to be here, but he is not, and she is not one to dodge or shirk an implied responsibility, something that runs in the family, it seems. She pauses in her stitching again and looks at Tony intensely before speaking again.

"Tony and I didn't speak to each other much for over a decade, though he was always my brother and my family," she says with a tight smile. "When I came back into his life, and I finally saw him for who he has become, we connected, and I shared with him what I had done in my life… some of the things I was less than proud of… I asked him how we dealt with it so well, when others crumbled and fell by the wayside."

She is looking to the side now, remembering sitting on the roof of the barn, drunk on sweet red wine, Richard across from her on his third bottle of Tullamore Dew Irish whiskey trying to keep his buzz. It had been after their adventures to Boston, New York and the south, and they had stayed up late telling each other stories, and she shared a lot that night.

"He had looked at me squarely and firmly, and with a wistful tone, he'd said, 'The first time you ever kill someone, not in self-defense, but killing and murdering someone… ending their life on purpose… _that_ will be the hardest thing you'll ever do in your entire life, and you will be incapable of comprehending that anything could ever be harder to do and cope with afterwards…' ,"

She pauses to take a calming breath and looks back in Tony's eyes, her tone firm as she remembers the words etched into her mind, " 'The second time, will be a thousand times harder to do and to cope with… And after that, you begin to wonder how it was ever hard in the first place.'… "

Autumn takes a breath and picks up her needle and thread again, "It never really got easy for me. But I have met people and creatures for whom it was less difficult than others. The world is a hard, cruel place for everyone, and the weak and lonely need those who are stronger to protect them, and sometimes to avenge them. I couldn't do it, but Richard can, and I am glad for it."

Tony watches as Autumn finishes stitching up the cut, then ties it off and lays a bandage on it to wrap it. She nods as she rises from tending the cut and goes about cleaning the kitchen, fully aware she will be late opening up because of this, but not really caring.

"I don't know if I can do it," Tony says with a frown of worry on his face.

Autumn smiles a real smile at him, a slight dimple on her right cheek as she looks back at him, "It wouldn't matter if you decided to swear off violence and become a Buddhist monk, so long as you chose to do something and be the best you can be at it, he would be proud of you."

"You really mean that?" he asks, surprised, as his mother had always yelled at him that he needed to study more, and stop reading stupid fantasy books.

"Never ask a leopard to change his spots, or a tiger to erase his stripes," Autumn says with a smile, putting away the med kit. "No matter how hard he tries, he'll still be a leopard or a tiger, that's all he knows how to be, in the end."

Tony is practicing in the late afternoon air behind his house, Rebecca having moved into hers in the Bastion, comfortable with the folks here now. He is finishing the fourth form he has been taught, a more complex series of attacks and parries, and he is practicing slowly, trying to master the moves exactly as he was shown. When he stops and bows to his imaginary opponent, a light, fast clapping comes from behind and above him, and he turns on his toes. Sitting on the back roof of his house with her feet dangling is Jocelyn in a light blue and pink striped knit sweater.

"That was good," she says with a smile down at him, her feet kicking absently in the air. "But shouldn't you be packing? Getting ready with the others?"

He frowns at her, "Packing for what?"

"They are leaving for New Orleans tonight, for the expansion Rick started," she says with a surprised frown at him. "I thought you knew and were going."

"No one mentioned it to me," he says with a frown and deep thoughts. "I've been training and working with the Security guys on understanding the basics, hoping I'd get to contract solo with the Guild, eventually."

"Oooh," Jocelyn says excitedly and drops the twelve feet to the ground into a crouch, just like her animal form of a mountain lion would. "So, do you want to go?"

"I'd like to," he says with a pensive frown. "I was there when they took him, and I was supposed to do the New Orleans mission with him and the Vikings."

"So, he'd want you to go, right?" she says, her tone leading, smiling mischievously.

"What's on your mind?" he asks, suspicious of the eleven year olds' tricky expression.

"Clean up and pack, and I'll show you," she says, gesturing to the house.

Tony hesitates for only a moment, then packs a three day bag of gear and then follows Jocelyn outside and down the trail in the Bastion to one of the storehouses on the corner. She waves to the guard next to a door, who looks at him suspiciously but does not question the khan's daughter leading the human son. Tony follows her into the tunnels under the Bastion, knowing they were there, but now amazed and lost as he follows the girl through the twists and turns.

Finally, they are in front of a door with no ornaments, decorations or symbols, simply heavy wood with iron banding it. Down the hall is a set of stairs leading up.

"We're just under the cabin," Jocelyn says as she grabs the ring handle under the lock mechanism, and she pulls back on the heavy door, which moves slowly but quietly. "This is Rick's arms room."

Tony looks wide eyed at the weapons arrayed in the room, three wooden statues of a man, a tiger and a half form in the center, various weapons and arms arrayed around the room. Jocelyn jogs past him, her small frame excited now that they are here, and she goes to a chest on the far wall. She waves him over and when he is next to her, she flips open the unlocked latch and pushes the lid back.

Inside is a collection of leather as well as a bandoleer with heavy throwing knives in it, and he furrows his brow as he studies it, trying to figure out what kind of armor it is. He picks it up and holds what looks like the shoulders, and recognizes the overlapping sheets of thick leather that look like a centipede's back. He cannot remember the name of the armor, but this is the type that Roman Legionnaires used to wear, leather for scouts and light fighters, steel for the heavy infantry.

"It's Rick's," Jocelyn says unnecessarily. "If you're going with everyone on a mission, you'll need armor. And I don't think he would mind you using this."

"It's not too heavy," he comments, feeling the heft. "It would work."

"Let's get it on you, then," Jocelyn says with a grin. "I think I hear them getting the horses together upstairs."

Tasha is checking the straps of her horse as she and the rest of the large contingent of shapeshifters prepares to leave the Bastion. It has been three weeks since Jark and Floki have returned from Louisiana and Richard has gone missing with no word. Those in the Horde know the truth, that the Khan is not in Houston, though the local authorities and groups do not. They have all been acting like its business as usual, and the previous adventures of the Khan have given his people faith that he will return as he has in the past. The plan calls for her and the rest of the warriors and businessmen of the Horde to go to Baton Rouge to begin their expansion towards New Orleans, and today they set out on that course.

She pauses from checking her stirrups as the front door of the cabin opens, and Tony walks out the front door with a stoic expression, Jocelyn behind him with a smile on her face. He is wearing Richard's leather armor from before he was infected with LycV, loricated plate armor like the legionnaires used to use, but in heavy brown leather instead of steel, making it lighter but not as protective. Jocelyn must have taken him to Richard's Arms Room and showed him the armor in storage. Tasha's throat catches as she watches him walk down the steps with katana on his hip, quiver on his back and a recurve bow in hand as he walks up to her, his posture firm as the other shapeshifters turn to them.

"I'm coming with you," he says firmly, the short stubble on his face dark and his dark brown hair a few inches long.

"This is Horde business," Tasha says as she faces him fully from a few yards away, her tone factual, not confrontational, wondering what he'll say.

"Richard Michaels is my father," Tony says firmly, and she can sense nervousness in him, though his tone is firm. "The Horde is his family, so it is mine, as well."

She looks at him steadily and smiles at him, remembering Autumn's words when she had said she would accompany the mission. She steps to him and grabs the joint of the breastplate, tugging at it firmly to test its fit. It is secure, and she turns her wrist, gently placing the fingers of her left hand on his jaw while looking him firmly in the eye.

"You are your father's son," she says softly, then nods. "Go grab a horse, I advise against the black stallion, as tempting as it is. He's ill-tempered and needs to be hit frequently to keep him in line."

Tony nods and walks away towards the barn, where he joins the stablemaster, and emerges a few moments later with the black stallion Tasha had discommended. He pauses before joining the group, though, as Rebecca is to the side, and he stops next to her says a few words and kisses her knuckles before turning and mounting the horse. He rides to where the assembly is pointedly ignoring the exchange, and when he joins them, they ride out of the gate, a hundred shapeshifters of the Horde off to expand their Khanate.

Tony quirks an eyebrow the first night the group of shapeshifters are staying the night around an Inn and Stable on the side of the main highway, a spot on the map. They had rented all the available rooms, and still some had to make camp in the treeline, Tasha and himself among those not taking the rooms. So he is sitting at the edge of their sleeping area as a pair of riders with two extra remounts each rides up. He walks to the two Vikings as they slow to a trot with grins on their faces.

"What are you doing here?" Tony asks, frowning at them.

"Your father hired me to train you," Floki says with a smile from his clean shaven face.

"And my father wants me to look after the bastard," Jark says with a jerk of his chin at his half-brother.

Tony sighs and leads the extra hands added to their group, deciding not to fight them, but just accept it.

Tony is sitting by the fire next to Tasha, setting out his bedroll when Autumn walks up and tosses a leather satchel on the bedding. He frowns in confusion and picks up the bag, looking inside and frowning with feeling.

"Algebra books?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"And some English Lit, too," Autumn says, sitting across the fire from him. "Richard isn't the only one who can plan for contingencies."

"Why would I need an Algebra and English book?" he says with a frown of incomprehension. "I'm not in school anymore."

"You dropped out, if I remember you telling the story right," Autumn says with a pointed look at him. "Senior year, if I'm not mistaken."

He huffs at her and sits on his blankets, leaning back a bit as he's not yet comfortable sitting cross legged like everyone else.

"I'm already in the Merc Guild, they don't even require a GED," he counters, setting the leather bag to the side with a thump.

"But jobs come easier if you have a recognized educational certification, if it's accredited," Tasha says quietly from the side as she checks her arrowheads in the firelight.

"Richard never went to college, he's doing fine," Tony counters, pointing into the darkness randomly. "Hell, he got a G.E.D., joined the Army, and now he's the Khan. He's done great, and he didn't finish High School."

Autumn laughs as Tasha chuckles, and Autumn speaks to the confused looking teenager, "Richard has a Bachelor's Degree in History, a Master's Degree in Economics, and he's working on a doctorate in Political Science."

"What?" Tony says, surprised. "When? Why? He's the Khan, why would he need it?"

Tasha is smiling as she looks up from her arrows, "Because a lot of people think just like that. They think he's just the leader of a bunch of people that change shape and howl at the darkness. But then they meet him, and they work with him and for him, and realize that he's intelligent and persuasive as well."

"Richard, for all that he is the Khan, is also the Chief Executive Officer of a Company that just recently made it into the International Fortune 500 Club," Autumn says with a crooked smile of her own. "He's lined up to do an interview with Time in the near future, the company he re-built is worth nearly a hundred million dollars, and he quite literally has the President of the United States on speed dial if needed."

Tony stares at Autumn for a moment, "No shit, the President?"

"No shit," Tasha says with a smile. "And they wouldn't have taken him seriously as a leader and a businessman if he'd only finished his GED. He learned more so he could do more, more efficiently, so he is able to walk in the room and everyone knows he's smart, not just strong."

Tony frowns as he slowly digests that, then looks at the leather backpack with disgust, "But I hate math."

"I'm not saying get a degree in Economics," Autumn says soothingly.

"That was the bitchiest six months of our relationship," Tasha says with a half-scowl from the side. "He ripped more than one book in two in frustration while trying to finish his final paper. He got it because Hoffman's needed him to understand the numbers. He got his History degree in bits and pieces while in the Army, and he wants the Poli-Sci degree for reasons I barely understand, but he likes it."

Tony sighs in resignation and reaches for the bag, reluctantly pulling out the Algebra book to start studying.

Tasha stands on the outskirts of Baton Rouge, a security guard group of twelve shapeshifters and Tony behind her as she stands and waits in the dawn light. They had arrived early, and now they wait, though not for long. At the exact moment the top of the sun is discernable, five figures rise from the far side of the sandy clearing. Tasha peers across the two hundred yards separating them, calculating the three men and two women on the opposite end. Others are undoubtably in the brush and woods behind them, concealed by the shadows and darkness.

"Tony, you and three others, with me," she says with an absent wave of her hand, starting to walk forward.

She does not look back as Tony and the others fall in behind her and on her flanks, five of each side moving forward. They walk across the open expanse towards the Baton Rouge shapeshifters, all wearing jeans and leather vest except for Tasha, who wears a power suit with Converse All-Star sneakers, her saber on her hip and a challenge knife on her belt, just in case. Tony wears the armor he had taken from the arms room, and has all his weapons as well, the only one fully kitted out, but the only human in the group as well.

Tasha slows and stops ten yards away as the other group does likewise, "Good morning."

The others are all wearing sweatpants and hooded sweatshirts, all in faded grey, all looking like they workout for a living, the center figure a hulking man standing nearly seven feet tall and with tree trunks for legs. Tasha recognizes the man from the intelligence briefings, the Bear of the Bayou, the local Pack leader that has held the line against the incursions from New Orleans for six years now. He has just over two hundred in his territory, maybe sixty or so effective fighters, but he's managed to keep his territory, though not without losses. He has a thick brow, reminiscent of a Neanderthal and with thick blond hair combed back into a ten inch long mane on his back as he glares across at Tasha. His left eye is milky, blind from the looks of it, and with a thick scar running down the eyebrow and cheek. His face is square and roughly cut to match his brow and body, and Tasha doubts negotiation will work, but she pitches anyway, wanting to have the high ground if it comes to blows.

"I am here on behalf of the Khan, to discuss your Pack and that of the Horde," Tasha says with a slight smile across at him.

"Where is the Khan?" the man asks in a gravelly voice that is reminiscent of the Clan Heavy Alpha, Noel.

"He is unavailable, I am Tasha, his wife and mate, as well as the female Alpha of the Horde," she says with a twist of her head, still aiming for cordial despite his confrontational tone.

"I will not deal with his pickings," the man says with a growl, his eyes flashing with a blue light for a moment. "I will speak only to the Khan."

"You will speak with _me_ ," Tasha says, her own eyes flashing gold in the dim morning light, her tone, stance and expression changing to that of an Alpha, not a negotiator.

"You are nothing to me," the man says with a sneer.

Tasha snarls across at him, "No one interferes."

She pulls her sabre from her side and tosses it back without looking, one of her guards catching it easily, and she pulls her belt off, then shifts to her warrior form. The half-lion, half-woman splits the wool suit at the seams and Tasha roars across at the were-bear, who does likewise, a ten foot tall blond Kodiak across from her, roaring. Tasha dashes forward and the bear does likewise, in warrior form that is hard to discern from the bear form, easier to balance on two legs and with thumbs on the forepaws. Tasha feigns high and slides right while twisting, her right claws catching the heavy fur and hide of the back left leg of the bear with a spray of blood.

The Kodiak roars into the sky and turns with a madness in its eyes, but Tasha is undeterred and unimpressed, dodging under heavy swipes of the paws and then leaping after a missed blow. She latches onto the upper arm and bites deep into the shoulder joint with her toothy maw, ripping the joint and bone. She releases quickly and leaps away, avoiding an awkward swipe of the left paw and an impotent snap of his jaws. She prowls low around the bleeding were-bear, her eyes focused with blood dripping from her jaw, and the bear charges her, not wanting to wait until he loses consciousness from blood loss.

Tasha leaps up, easily over the attack and dash, twisting in mid-air to land behind the weakening and sloppy opponent and then leaping on his back. She reaches across his throat with her arms and locks his head in her own massive arms, and the Kodiak slams her to the ground under his back. She ignores the impact with a grunt, her legs hooking into his torso to keep him to her front, though not locked. The choke hold and the loss of blood combine to knock him out, and she kicks him away with a grunt.

She rises to her feet and looks at those who had accompanied the were-bear to the meeting.

"Stop his bleeding, bandage him, ensure he survives," she snarls at them with a flash of gold in her eyes. "I have use for him, and you, as well."

Richard is sitting cross legged in his cell, confirming again as the magic crashes into the world with his nose the identities of those who are holding him. The scents of his captors had been relatively uniform when he had first been taken, soldiers, Rangers with the US Army. But over the following two weeks fewer and fewer of them had been the same, and now they all smell as those from home do, like Mercs. The uniforms and armor and weapons look the same, but he can see the different brands on the guns and weapons, the difference in the way they stand and move. It has been over two weeks since the Jewish woman had visited, and now it is time for him to leave, as he has stopped learning from those who hold him.

He rises to his knees in the cell, no idea if it is day or night, feeling his limbs in the magic filled world, his body thinner than when he had been captured, but still strong thanks to his channeling magic into his muscles to prevent atrophy. His hair is long and his beard scraggly and he walks to the bars of his cage, reaching out with a hand to touch the ward in place there. The magic barrier shimmers with gold luminance in the dim hallway, and he pushes on it with gritted teeth, shattering it in a spray of translucent shards that disappear as they fall towards the ground. The ward was strong, but nothing compared to the Black Vohls or to Tiamat, and he grips the silver alloy bars in his hands, wrenching the door from its place and shoving it to the side.

The bars clatter to the side of the hall as he turns to his right, and the door on the end of the hall bursts open, three men in black uniforms and heavy steel armor there. Normally he would feel bad fighting them and possibly killing them, but they are hired help, not soldiers sworn to protect and defend, so he feels nothing. He will try to incapacitate rather than kill, but he will not miss a blink of sleep over his actions today.

He darts in, shoving the first guard into the others in a hard rush, tossing each to the sides as they come to bare, their impacts on the wall breaking and bruising them as he uses the first guard as a battering shield. He stops ten yards in the next hall, the three guards broken against the walls behind him, and he looks around to assess his location. A clean wall with doors along the sides, small windows in each to see inside. He strides to where one of the guards is moaning and trying to sit up, and he jabs across his chin, breaking the jaw and knocking the man unconscious. He pulls the sword from the man's belt, as well as the scabbard and dagger in it's sheathe, belting it around his own waist as he rises and looks into the door closest to him.

The small room inside is empty, and he moves to the next, which is also empty. The fifth room has an occupant, a large man in his early thirties, six and a half feet tall, black with faded tattoos on his body, thick in the shoulders and waist, likely weighing in at three hundred pounds or more. The man is in a straight jacket, a haggard expression on his stocky features as he stares at the door blankly, his face impassive in the dim light of the room. Richard considers his options for a moment then breaks the door's lock and shoves it open, spilling the brighter light of the hallway into the room. The man does not move from where he leans on the far wall, sitting, looking up from lowered brows at Richard's bare-chested silhouette in the doorway, black lines of scars across his exposed skin.

"You're him, aren't you?" the man asks in a deep baritone that is rockier and heavier than Noel's, a slow rumble of a voice.

He does not reply, unable to speak coherently during the magic wave due to the curse, instead he grunts affirmative, his only answer.

The man nods slowly, glancing down at the silvery coat he wears, a steel and silver mesh that keeps him contained. He looks back at Richard with a blank look on his face as they stare across at each other.

"I didn't volunteer for _this_ ," the man says with a shake of his head. "Not this. That son of a bitch said I'd be a soldier, not an experiment."

Richard looks at him intensely for a moment, judging, deciding, and mentally nods to himself.

He says nothing, but walks to within a few yards of the sitting man, and gestures at him with a hand, then at the door. His movements asking if the man wants to come with him.

"That bastard poked at me like a fucking science experiment," the man growls, his eyes flashing a deep purple that confirms what Richard's nose is telling him, the man is a shapeshifter. "I wanted to serve my country, not be his toy and a fucking suicide weapon."

Richard growls low at the message the man says, tilting his head as he agrees with him, though not saying a word.

"They infected me, with blood they got from you," the man says, still leaning on the wall while sitting, though larger than Richard but unarmed and restrained. "I thought I was serving my country, not him, not them."

Richard narrows his eyes and grunts inquisitively, and the man shakes his head with a frown.

"You really don't like to talk…" the man says with a curious frown. "Guys with Lighthouse tattoos," the man says with a real snarl. "They bossed him around, I got shoved in here, and they bled me regular."

Richard's chest rumbles in thought and narrowed eyes, then back the way he came, and to the man again. He raises a shoulder and an eyebrow to the seated man.

"Sergeant James Rutherford," the man says with a tight expression. "One of nine that were infected. The others all went loup." James looks at him solidly without looking away and says with conviction, "I'm in, as long as it gets me out of here, and a shot at him."

Richard nods, walking over and going to the back of the jacket as James leans forward. A moment later James rises up, looming over Richard's smaller frame, and they lock gazes again. After a long moment, James speaks.

"How did you know I wouldn't snap your neck the moment I was free?" he asks, his frame heavy with muscle as only a professional weightlifter can maintain.

Richard taps his nose with an equally steady gaze, then jerks his head to the door and takes the lead.

James chuckles, "You can smell a lie, I like that."

Richard turns his back on the larger man and heads into the hall, gesturing to the unconscious or dead guards. James is studying the hall and downed guards while pulling off another guard's belt with weapons on it. Richard is focused on a point in the distance as he narrows his eyes and focuses to see the area around them in the magic spectrum, not a map, but a sense of where heavy magic is. He gestures over his shoulder to James and the door on the right at the end of the corridor.

"So what next?" James asks, now beside Richard with a long sword in hand, same as Richard.

Richard says nothing while walking to the next door, pausing to feel and break the ward on it. He nods to the door and readies his sword in his hand as the bigger man bunches himself up to prepare for a charge.

James steps forward and throws his shoulder into the heavy metal door, tearing it from the frame, the door skipping and spinning back ten yards from the frame. Richard and James are out of the choke point a moment after, leaping amongst the ten guards who had been beyond the door in a defensive position, but five of them already broken from the flying door. Richard is careful to not kill if he can help it, though he notes an excessive amount of violence from James. He will need to talk to him about the inner beast, as with a new shapeshifter the chances of going loup while fighting are high.

Richard snaps his fingers sharply and gestures firmly to follow him, pulling James from punching a guard's mushed head with his fist for the fourth time. The larger man looks up at the door, his face blank and lost for a moment, but he shakes it like a horse tossing a fly and stands. He is still for a moment and walks to Richard, shaking his head again. Richard growls low, a warning sound to the other man, who takes a deep breath and nods slowly in response.

James pauses at the door and takes a deep breath, obviously collecting himself himself, then nodding to Richard before grabbing the door and shoving it inwards. The door shudders and falls back to the floor, revealing a larger room beyond, a laboratory. Richard walks past James and looks beyond the herbs, liquids and containers, seeing instead the thick glass with wire in it and the man inside the cell. The man is in his fifties, maybe sixties, wearing faded and torn khaki pants, a stained dirty collared shirt with no tie, a green suit jacket that also has stains on it. The man has a brown derby on his head, and the overall impression is of a drifting homeless man, his white beard and hair cropped to an inch long and his skin the color of butternut, possibly tanned or natural.

"Ah," the man says in a velvety voice, rising from where he had been leaning on the glass, standing with bare feet. "I was wonderin' when you'd git ti-erd of sittin' round," the accent is deep southern, reminding Richard of jazz festivals and music when he had been in New Orleans. "Ye mind gittin' me outta heer?" the man asks with a yellow stained smile, three teeth missing from it.

Richard grunts in a curious tone, walking across the deserted lab to the glass.

" 'Cuz the devil's a-waitin', boy," the man says with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Ye got a spot on his dance card, and I need to git you there to make it."

Richard quirks an exaggerated eyebrow while James paces the room, his nose breathing the scents deep, though Richard's experience has already parsed it all out.

"Dat old fiend's got mi soul," the man says with a tight scowl in the lengthening silence. "I git you dere, 'ol Scratch gives me a chance to win it back."

Richard looks at the man through the glass with another raised eyebrow, then pulls out the dagger from his belt. He shoves it blade first and makes an X in the glass, then circles it and hits the center of the X hard with the hilt, the glass shattering. He then uses the heavy metal of the dagger to snap the wires remaining, and the old man moves roughly through the restriction.

Richard watches the old man carefully, then leads them out of the old research facility north of Alexandria, Louisiana.

Tony looks down the street he had walked down weeks ago, fighting his instincts to fixate on the sword stuck in a cobblestone less than a block away. He is here for Rebecca's mother, not the sword, but he recognizes it even at this distance, a pit around it from where someone had tried to dig it out. He and the two Vikings who have decided to attach themselves to him rise quietly up the stairs to the same door they had visited weeks ago, and Tony knocks. After a few moments, the little door opens, but instead of the eyes of an old black woman, a man's eyes look out from under black brows and tanned skin.

"Who are you?" the man demands, a sharp question nearly incomprehensible as it is thick with the local Cajun accent.

"We're here looking for the old woman that lived here," Tony says firmly. "Where is she?"

"She gone," the man says, slamming the little view door sharply.

Tony frowns, turning to Jark with a raised eyebrow. The stocky NeoViking grins in his dark blond beard, pulling the short handled axe from his belt and swinging hard at the small door in the center of the larger door. Tony is to the right, Floki to the left, both with bows ready as the axe blade is embedded in the frame of the small door, and Jark steps back then rams his right foot hard into the hinge side of the door. The frame shifts and Jark pulls his large axe from his back, a single blade, a flat back and deep chin of a traditional axe on a long handle, and then runs forward. His shoulder collides with the door and shatters inward, splintering and he is on the floor at an angle with the remains of the wood. Though prone and an easy target, Tony and Jark are firing over and past their downed companion, their arrows aiming for legs and arms, rather than torsos to wound, not kill.

Tony and Jark are just inside the doorframe looking at five large men with arrows protruding from various extremities while Jark stands with a grunt. He theatrically brushes wood splinters from his jacket and walks to the closest man on the floor, Tony and Jark spreading to the sides and watching the entrances to the foyer. They can hear commotion deeper in the building and this living area, and both have arrows on the string and waiting to fire. Jark grabs the arrow sticking from the shoulder of the man he kneels beside, white teeth flashing in his beard.

"Listen carefully, friend, I'm not a patient man," Jark says gruffly, then twists the shaft and the broadheaded arrow in the man's flesh.

The man cries out, and Jark slaps the man, having released the arrow and leaving a bloody handprint on the man's face.

"Focus," Jark says, and the tanned face is pale from blood loss and pain as he looks at Jark now, his breathing ragged. "What happened to the woman that used to live here? The VooDoo woman, she reads cards and had a daughter?"

The man glances at where Floki and Tony stand to the sides, watching the other doors, realizing that help is not coming, and he nods emphatically.

"She di- disappeared, a few weeks ago," the man says in a breathy voice. "Place was deserted, and the gang needed a new safe house, so we moved in."

"Where did she go?" Jark says, lightly touching the feathered end of the arrow, the man sucking his breath in sharply at the pain it creates.

"I don't know," the man says with a shake of his head, and as Jark reaches to grab the arrow the man shakes his head faster. "The guy, the one who was after the girl, he's still in town. Still works down by the docks."

"What guy?" Tony nearly growls, glancing at the man, then back at the door he is guarding.

Jark flicks the arrow, and the man grunts at the pain, "You heard him, what guy?"

"Works at the meat shop by the docks, folks own it, or something, black hair, long, clean face," the man says, dredging his memory. "Maybe eighteen? Looks like a boxer."

"What street can we find him on?" Jark says, closing his hand on the arrow shaft.

"Your nightingale has a paramour?" Floki says in a questioning tone as they walk from the site of their questioning to the street the man had indicated.

"A surprise to me as well," Tony says with an angry frown.

"What the hel is a para-more?" Jark asks with a frown, walking heavily behind the other two, head looking around for danger, as do the two archers.

"Someone who has a romantic interest in another," Floki says with a long suffering sigh. "Anthony, did she ever talk about another?"

"Well, we talk, but we've never…" he shrugs with a frown.

Floki sighs, suddenly feeling old, "Have you kissed her yet?"

Tony scowls and after a moment mumbles under his breath, "I haven't kissed her."

Jark grunts unambiguously in distaste, "You lost her, then. You had weeks with no competition, and couldn't do it. _And_ she didn't tell you about this other one."

"You've been friend zoned," Floki agrees with a nod of his head, the baseball cap over his dark hair dimming his features.

Tony only grimaces, the slightly older guys only confirming what his inner voices are saying, and he concentrates on not being distracted as they move through the cobbled streets to their next stop.

Tony walks into the shop alone, Jark and Floki waiting on the street as the small meat market is not made for more than a few patrons at best. He has his bow slung over his back, sword on his hip with throwing knives across his chest, but under the wrap of his dark green cloak. He is not sure who he is looking for exactly, but he has a rough description and once he sees the guy, he hopes he can talk to him about Rebecca and her mother. An older lady is walking past him to the exit, and he looks at the old man standing behind the glass covering the shop's wares, prawlines and boudin sausage.

"Excuse me, sir," Tony says politely, smiling over the high counter between them.

"What you want?" the man asks, gesturing to the meat kept on ice before him.

"I'm looking for a young guy, black hair, knows Rebecca and her mother, from further uptown," Tony says, and the man perks up at the mention of the girl and older woman.

"Becca lef', dis-appear few wiks 'ago," the man says with a heavy Cajun accent, his eyes narrowing at Tony, trying to figure out if he is a friend or not.

"She came with us, to where it was safe," Tony says firmly, meeting the man's gaze. "I'm here to find her mother, to reunite them, if possible. I heard there's a guy here that knows them, might know where the mother went."

The man shakes his head slowly, his gaze heavy and suspicious, "Don' know nobady round heer like dat."

"If you remember," Tony says as he pulls a card from his pocket and sets it on the counter, his eyes on the man. "You can send word to either the Viking Longhouse, the Merc Guild in town, or the local Pack. The Khan said he'd take care of her, and he is a man of his word."

"De Khan?" the man asks with a frown of confusion, picking up the card and looking at it with narrowed eyes.

"The Khan of Texas has expanded to control the local Pack," Tony says in a matter-of-fact tone, taking a step back from the counter and starting to turn to the door. "Check the word on the street. If you hear from her, let her know she will be safe with us."

"An' who are yoo?" the man asks Tony's back.

"The Khan's son," Tony says without a backwards glance and joins the NeoVikings in the street outside.

Tasha studies the center courtyard of the square block completely owned and operated by the local Pack, noting the details of the place. It is a traditional Creole set of narrow buildings and storefronts with a hollow center courtyard, where most of the area's Pack is localized. The main entrance they had come through looks like an old French entrance from an old movie about 1900 New Orleans, with old, delicate and intricate furniture and paintings. The wood feels old, as do the bannisters and chandeliers, not to mention the thick carpets on the floor that Tasha would guess are Persian. They had come into the shared courtyard, with a half dozen willow trees and numerous bundles of bamboo stalks shooting up from the ground, a thick but small forest in the center of the buildings.

Tasha is standing in a fresh pant suit, saber on her hip but no knife, the long curved blade her only weapon with her light wool suit and leather vest. The charcoal grey over the white vest and black shirt that is unbuttoned for the top two buttons is a contrast that somehow fits in the draping trees and bushes around her. She turns from rubbing a willow leaf in her fingers to where the local Pack Alpha walks in from another building, the Pack's medical wing. He is standing tall and firm, though a large bandage on his shoulder belies his show of strength and balance.

"Let's try this again," Tasha says, her tone firm as she has established dominance with the other. "I am Tasha Michaels, Wife and Mate to the Khan of Houston, and I am here to discuss the details of your integration into our organization."

The man is nearly snarling at her shorter frame, even having been beaten, and Tasha looks at the three shapeshifters from each of their Packs with them, and she gestures them to leave. Her people turn and leave without question, and the three from the local Pack pause until the were-bear nods with a snort, then Tasha is alone with the massive, injured, were-bear.

Tasha turns from him and walks in the morning light to where a short tree stands in the center of the courtyard, a smile creeping onto her face as she looks at the tree there. The center tree is a cherry blossom, and it seems to be budding, despite the winter chill, and she walks to where a branch hangs low. She extends her hand and cradles the unbloomed flower in her hand, leaning forward to scent the undeveloped bud.

" 'They are all _perfect'_ ," she whispers softly, quoting one of Richard's favorite movies with a small smile. "Richard will enjoy visiting this courtyard, I think," she says absently, turning from the bud with one hand behind her back, her left gesturing to the trees, bushes and gardens. "He acts a brute when necessary, but he's really quite intelligent, and wise when needed."

"I have fought for nearly a decade to keep my people independent," the man nearly snarls, his voice a deep growl of a baritone. "First against local rivals, and then from the unnatural Witch of the Mire. I will not allow my people to become slaves to king who only wishes to expand his power."

Tasha fights not to smirk, the description far from the truth. Richard is not an expansionist or an ambitious man, he is a realist, and is consolidating power for the sake of his people and the world, not for himself. She knows all too well how heavy the burden is that he wears, the responsibility he feels to everyone in the Horde, for their descendants yet to come. _Heavy is the head that wears the crown_ , she thinks with a heavy sigh, tilting her head at the large man.

"He didn't ask for any of this," Tasha says, strolling easily around the tree to look at the winter blossoms at the roots of the tree. "He is doing what he must for the betterment of all. I agree with everything he has done, and looking at the threat poised from New Orleans, I ask if you think it unwise to stomp on the witch before it is too late?"

"Where were you three months ago?" he snarls angrily across at her. "Six months? A year!"

The last is nearly a roar, and the timeframe causes Tasha to bristle, coinciding with the magic wave and her disastrous wedding shortly after.

"Our reach has expanded, our power base solid, _now_ ," Tasha says firmly to the man across from her. "A year ago, we couldn't reach beyond Texas without serious risk, but now we can. And now we must, as Kalypso has to be halted before it is too late."

"It may already be too late," the large man says with a tired sigh, nearly sagging onto an iron and wood bench on the side, the energy draining from him, the lost fight and his hold on dominance sinking in. "I've tried pushing against her, she has three of the Scyllas watching the major tributaries feeding Nawlins, and the recon groups I've send all disappeared… I don't know how."

"How many have you lost?" she asks softly, her eyes narrowed as she looks down at the seated hulk of a man.

"Ninety seven, these last eleven months," he says with a deep sigh, looking down at his hands. "She hasn't pushed for three months, the only reason we haven't fallen yet. If she were to push now, we would fold."

"No, _we_ will _not_ ," Tasha corrects him with a firm tone and a flash of her eyes, and his gaze is pulled from his callused hands to her Alpha stare. "This is a new age, and we will not be subservient, as we were in the previous ages. This time, we will be the dominant variety, and we will shape the course of the Age of Man to come."

The man blinks under his thick brows and long blond hair, and after a moment he asks in an almost yearning voice, "You really believe that, don't you?"

Tasha snorts with a lip raised, "If you think me and the few you've seen so far is something, just wait until you see the Khan in full on battle mode, with his Golden Horde and his Armies assembled to defeat his enemies. I believe it because it _will_ happen, or we will all die gloriously in its cause, for the sake of our children and our children's children a hundred, a thousand years down the road."

The man holds her gaze for a breath, then steps forward to one knee, "My name is Jacque Deveroeux, and I pledge my service, and that of my Pack, to the Khan and his people."

Tasha rests her hand on the man's bowed head, her throat dry, hoping deep down she is not selling a foolish dream to these in need of hope.

Two hours into looking at the summaries she has demanded from the local Pack, Tasha receives a phone call from home, and is relieved to hear Mischa's voice on the other end.

"Hey, babe," she says after Mischa's greeting. "Sorry I didn't call right away, but the fight went well, messed him up and kept pretty unscathed."

"I'm glad to hear, that, hun, but I called because there's another problem here," Mischa says, tension evident in her voice.

"It's Miller, the mayor, isn't it? He wants to know where we are," she trails off as she considers that.

"No, actually, things have been quiet on the homefront," Mischa interjects quickly. "With the Conclave you held just before leaving and all the back door negotiating, as well as the People out of the picture, things are steady. It's a human problem that came back from Baton Rouge."

Tasha blinks, "Rebecca? What happened?"

"She's a witch, a minor enchantress, to be precise," Mischa says with a touch of regret. "Found her talking in hushed tones with three of the stable boys individually, two occasions each over the last week. She's hedging her bets against Tony, looks like."

Tasha sighs, "I got a report from Floki, she has a betrothed here in town."

"Shit," Mischa says with meaning.

"Exactly," Tasha says with a sigh of her own, then leads her girlfriend into describing the situation at home as she does likewise for the expansion.

James is walking a step to the side and behind Richard as he follows the old hobo down the dirt road not far north of New Orleans, just in the Louisiana border near Kentwood. They had travelled mostly by foot from where they had been captive, scrounging off the land to eat and drink, the hobo going into town with Richard on a few occasions to play some music for coin. They had not made much, enough to buy a few basic items and some ratty instruments for the road. During the tech waves, Richard had spent his time quietly and sparingly explaining to James about his inner beast, and how to control it. The man has the natural restraint of an excellent soldier, and with Richard's training, he has gained a greater control of himself.

They are passing down a dirt road on a large open field, the trees barely visible in the distance, save the one ahead, at a cross roads in the field, a single tree standing solitary next to it, a willow with no leaves on it. Richard smirks internally, an old image brought to mind, and he increases his pace, leading the other two to the intersection beside the tree. The magic is in swing, and he cannot talk, but there is no help for that, and a part of him has a feeling that it will not matter with the creature he is about to parlay with.

As they stop under the tree at the crossroads, Richard nods meaningfully at the old man, who nods and moves to where the root boles of the tree form a bowl in the ground. The old hobo sits cross legged, his pants in tatters below the knee from the walking, Richard and James in little more than jeans, t-shirt and a heavy cloak in addition to the weapons they procured from their captors. Richard bundles his weapons, his recovered kurki among them, with his cloak and tosses them to the side, gesturing James to do the same, who scowls but complies, recognizing that Richard is dominant.

The old man is on his knees, pulling the old burlap sack from his back, fighting to hold a chicken by its legs as he pulls it free from the complete darkness of the bag to the dim Louisiana night. Richard watches without a word and barely an expression as the hobo mutters and chants in Creole under his breath for a long minute, then snaps and rips the live chicken's head off. The hobo holds the bleeding stump of its neck over the bole of the tree, filling the living wooden bowl to the brim, then dropping a bracelet from his left hand into the steaming liquid in the chilly, late winter night. The bracelet has charms of beads, heads carved from tiny stones, human hair and bone, and the liquid boils as though the charms were red hot when dropped.

Steam rises from the bowl of blood and covers the ground, spreading unnaturally fast as the hobo in the center of it all continues his chant, sounding like an old Jazz tune. The incomprehensible words echo through the clear skied night, reverberating off of nothing as the steam solidifies into a fog that covers the ground for a foot in all directions as far as the eye can see, the darkness coalescing against even the shapeshifters' improved vision. The night cracks with a red bolt of lightning in a clear sky as the hobo's words reach a crescendo…

"Beelzebub!" the old man cries into the night as the lightning cracks overhead, never striking the ground.

Richard is tense and searching his surroundings, James beside him doing likewise as they both scan the darkness, the hobo leaning to the side of where he kneels, vomiting blood onto the root of the tree. A long moment passes, the fog and darkness still thick around them, and then a sharp laugh punctuates the air, a near cackling but not quite, more of a measured laugh for theatrical purposes, but spine chilling for all that.

"Richard Michaels," the voice cracks out, reminiscent of the lightning, but not a deep baritone, more of a nasal bass. "I have been looking forward to meeting you again…"

"And why is that?" he asks, though his words are a jumble of Yiddish, Chinese and Russian.

"You pray to the _other_ ," the disembodied voice says, and Richard tracks the words to one location. "But he has been too busy to acknowledge you," the voice comes from another direction, impossibly fast. "I have time in my schedule, however, to offer assistance…"

"Everything you have comes with a price, one I am not willing to pay," Richard answers, looking around with unfocused eyes, wondering if a target will ever emerge, his words a mix of Hebrew, Egyptian, Amazonian, Greek and Japanese.

"You may rethink that stance, when you see what is at stake," the voice says, now localized at where the shadows are coalescing into a solid form, Richard focusing on the emerging figure and gesturing to James to keep watching the rest of the area.

The figure that materializes is a man in a black suit and tie, a crisp white shirt and a long black overcoat that flaps slightly in the night breeze. The man's face is sharp and aquiline, as though nearly starved, but containing a raptor edge to it, the nose slightly hooked and the eyes focused and sharp. The hair and eyebrows are a solid gray in color, the eyes black on black, making pools of darkness where his gaze rests, his cheekbones prominent on his features. He has thick hair, despite the gray, an inch long, simply brushed back, his narrow form a bare skeleton with only the minimal amount of meat and muscle on it to function, the clothing hanging like on a doll.

The death like appearance is completed with the black leather gloves on his hands and the long walking stick four feet long, tipped with a silver spike on one end, a claw holding a crystal ball with a pentagram engraved on the other. The man walks with no impediment, however, strolling easily through the fog, spinning the cane around himself as though he were a performer before a crowd to win a competition. As he stops a dozen yards away, he spins the cane around himself and sets the spike to the ground with a sharp crack as he grins through yellow teeth at Richard, at ends with the sharp appearance of the rest of him.

"I have been looking forward to this, Anthony, I really have," the man says with a nearly salacious smile, leaning forward over the cane for a breath, then standing straight again. "I had despaired you would ever return to my sphere of influence, but here you are…"

"You lost that wager, and I have no cause to make another," Richard says firmly through the Babylonian Curse.

The man chuckles low, leaning back and spinning the cane idly in his hands as he looks across at Richard, "You may change your mind. Things do change, after all, it is the only constant…"

Richard bites back his retort, instead gesturing to the old man who had led them here, finishing up his vomiting to the side, "What do you have over him?"

"A lost wager," the old man says, stepping gracefully to the side, still spinning the cane in complicated patterns without a thought. "He wants a rematch, though in his prime he was no match, much less now."

Richard glances at the old hobo, whom he has been watching for over a week now, having grown accustomed to the man's idiosyncrasies. He knows, deep down, he is being maneuvered, but not caring, and not able to resist the call to who he really is.

"What is the wager?" he asks, and the old man grins, his yellowed, crooked teeth the heavy contrast in his nearly elegant, though nefarious, presentation.

Old Scratch cackles into the night at that, and James turns his gaze from their surroundings to the old man. Once his eyes are on him, they cannot leave, and Richard lunges to the side, grabbing the larger man's wrist and twisting behind his back while grabbing his belt in the back, heaving up and flipping the larger man in the air, striking an elbow hard in the kidneys to stun him. The larger man nearly muscles out of the maneuver, but Richard manages to pin the larger were-tiger with a bit more grunting and wrestling, a complicated leg and arm lock threatening to break multiple joints in the nearly loup shapeshifter.

"You have things to attend," Scratch says with a chuckle, turning away with a flourishing spin and toss of his cane, catching it deftly without looking, strolling away into the darkness. "When you want that wager, come to one of my houses, your challenger will be waiting."

Richard only growls as he holds the larger were-tiger, the strain on his muscles bearable but strained as the larger man fights against the leverage of the trained holds keeping him pinned.

Tasha rubs her forehead, alone in the banquet hall of the Baton Rouge Pack, a dozen stacks of paperwork in front of her that she and Alex's assistant from Hoffman Resources have been pouring over for the last eighteen hours. She takes a deep breath, her mind hurting from all the numbers she has looked at, the balance sheets, the abstracts on all the members of the local Pack. Family and friends, associates of the Pack and the web of relations that is Baton Rouge and the surrounding area. She takes a deep breath and looks at her crazy list of numbers, additions and subtractions with personal notes mixed in.

"So, if I'm reading this right, we'll get an eighteen percent, or so, boost in economic influx, income-wise, but the additional hangers-on could, will, cause problems," she says, a near question to the were-jackal sitting across from her, the dark haired man's expression pensive.

"Seventeen point one two, for six months, Alpha," he says with a duck of his head, Jameson, the Bouda Alpha his girlfriend and he a submissive to females of all types. "After that, the influx drops sharply for a year, then is a drain for five to fifteen years, depending heavily on the market, which has a bad trend now. This is a bad market to invest in."

Tasha takes a deep breath while standing, walking to the window, looking out at the near dawn light through the thick glass. She ponders the road ahead, thinking not as herself, but as her mate, and smirks slightly as she speaks again.

"Three years ago, as Richard took control of Hoffman's, what did the market say?" she asks, turning her body to look at him, her feet planted.

"Sell, scavenge the remnants," the dark haired and handsome man says without a moment's pause. "But this is not Houston. There are more problems, more issues to solve."

"The problems never become easier, as we advance," she says with a smirk, turning back to the window and the rising sunrise in the distance, multicolored and beautiful. "We have more to back us up now, we can do it."

The younger man takes a breath and nods, though not as confident as his Alpha, "As you say, Nimir-ra, but the numbers do not look promising."

Tasha smirks at the darkness fading from the sky and the city beyond, pulling quotes from discussions with Richard, "It never does, but the numbers are misleading, because the human element is involved, and can't be properly quantified. That is what keeps us working, what keeps us employed."

She takes a deep breath and turns briskly from the window, "I need our lead consultants here now, I know they had an early night last night, I have tasks for them for the day, and many deadlines."

She speaks while sitting and pulling a fresh paper pad before her, starting to make a list of tasks.

"I expect all the Horde's present experts and the local experts here in no later than thirty minutes, understand?" she says, not looking up, but her tone firm as she continues to scrawl tasks and purposes on her pad.

The Bouda male Alpha bows as he leaves the room, "Yes, Alpha."

Tasha barely hears him leave as she is jotting down notes and tasks for her people, circling back more than once to add more detail, and when the senior leaders of the local Pack enter with those she had brought, she is energized for the tasks ahead.

Tony is on a rooftop in the local Pack's block, practicing the katas for his katana, still working on the fourth set when a teenage shapeshifter approaches from the roof access. Tony relaxes and nods to the slightly younger man, who has a pensive expression, not sure of the standing of the newcomers in the area, but intimidated after the Khan's mate defeated their Alpha so easily.

"There's a young man here to ask about the whereabouts of Rebecca Lefuer," the young man says in a Cajun accent, and Tony flicks his wrist absently to the side with his blade, sheathing it on reflex.

"Tell him that he will be seen shortly, and notify Floki and Jark," Tony says, his mind scrabbling as he is getting used to folks listening to him and obeying his unsure orders. "Have someone waiting to show me where I can meet the Vikings before meeting the young man. We're not familiar with your houses yet."

Tony's words are less than fully comfortable, but the shapeshifter nods and walks off as he pulls his bow and quiver from the side onto his person. His mind is fighting through his options, and though he'd fought not to cry over the heartbreak with Rebecca, he is determined to be his father's son, and act without emotion. It is with such thoughts in his head that he walks into a day room on the first floor where Jark and Floki are standing, Floki with his dirty tactical ball cap sitting on the bar where he is drinking. Jark is lounging on a love seat with his feet up, a bottle of beer in hand as well.

"Feet off the furniture, we're guests," Tony says firmly with a slight scowl to the slightly older man.

Jark lifts his face with a raised eyebrows, tilting back his beer to finish it before rising, "Ahhh… So do you want me to hold him while you beat him?"

"We won't be hurting him unless he hurt Mrs. LeFuer," Tony says with a scowl at the man, leading the other two behind the shapeshifter that shows them to the front door of a house.

Tony exits the front of the house, conscious of both Floki and Jark stiffening up behind him to present intimidating backup as he walks down the five steps to the street level. As he walks slowly, he takes the time to study the young man in the street, black hair and sharp handsome features including a cleft chin. The youth is big for his age, if he is a teenager, standing just above six feet tall, wide of shoulder and narrow of waist, as though his favorite hobby is to go to the gym and lift heavy things repetitively. He wears black jeans, a grey sweatshirt and a brown cloak over a rapier and dagger on his belt. Tony is slightly intimidated, then glances at his companions and realizes that Jark is larger than the youth, and he has wrestled with him numerous times, not losing too badly recently.

"I hear you are looking for Mrs. LeFuer, son of Khan," he says with an accent, heavy but easily understandable, as though he comes from the upper crust of the area.

"My name is Tony Hessberg," he says with a tight expression, working to feign an easy tone and demeanor that he has watched Richard and Tasha affect when dealing with confrontations. "We took Rebecca to safety, and wish to see that her mother is taken care of. Rebecca worries for her mother."

"Where is she?" the young man says with an angry expression, another emotion beneath it Tony recognizes, possession, and jealousy.

"Safe," Tony says carefully. "We swore she would be take care of, and she is. Do you know where Mrs. LeFuer is?"

"She is safe with relatives," the young man says with an angry glare at Tony, which he fights not to imitate. "Tell me where Rebecca is, so we can bring her home."

"If she wants to go home, she can go," Tony says after a pause. "But not after we're sure it's safe."

"You've whipped the local shapeshifters in a day," the young man says angrily, waving at the werewolves on the roof above. "But they are still here. It will never be safe with their type around, and those who condone them. Give me Rebecca, and we, her family and friends, will take care of her!"

Tony takes a breath, fighting hard not to lash out at the young man who has only a rapier and a main-gauche on his belt. After a few moments to make sure he does not erupt at the glaring teen, he responds in an icy tone that reminds Jark and Floki of his father.

"You refuse reason, so I'll propose this," Tony says, taking a deep breath. "The Merc guild here has a tournament facility, for contests and duels, what say you and I throw down there, to submission, KO or death, and the victor gets the information he wants."

"Tech or magic?" the youth asks, leaning his head back and looking down at Tony's shorter frame.

"Magic," Tony says with a firm nod.

"Done," the youth says, pulling his dagger and cutting his right palm, extending it to shake. "Gaston Devereax."

Tony takes a breath and cuts his own palm, fighting the pain it causes as he shakes the other's hand and seals the deal. The other turns and walks down the street, his dark brown cloak flapping behind him as he strides away.

"The lad has fifty pounds or more on you," Jark says from his side, stepping closer and speaking low.

"But Tony is quicker, I'd wager," Floki counters from the other shoulder.

"Care to wager?" Jark says with a raised brow.

"Are you really going to bet against me?" Tony says with a shake of his head, realizing what he's saying.

"Well… no, I just like to tweak the bastard's nose, is all," Jark says with a shrug.

Tony stands in the waiting room to enter the large dirt arena the local Merc Guild has erected for local contests. He had not thought through the consequences of his challenge, thinking they would get a few dozen spectators on each side and fight, not the production it has become. Nearly all the visiting shapeshifters from the Horde are in attendance, as well as half the local Pack, plus more spectators than he can count. The reason for the extra is that Gaston had brought a good number of relatives and friends and friends of friends, then the Vikings had invited many, plus the local Mercs that heard that the son of the Khan was fighting.

When Tasha had found out, her expression had gone pensive and she had everyone leave the two of them alone in the office that is on loan in the square of buildings that they are in. When the door closed, she had motioned him to sit and leaned forward in the chair across from the sofa he had sat down in.

"I have some bad news," Tasha had said with a pensive expression, recalling again how quickly she had been thrust into the role of mother figure, or at least aunt, to so many younger people.

"Rebecca doesn't care for me," Tony says stonily, his brow lowered slightly as he looks across at her evenly. "I figured that out already."

"We can work out something with the family, take it slow, you don't have to fight," Tasha says with a twist of her head, leaning back some as she realizes that what she had thought of as the difficult hurtle is past.

"That's not the point, not anymore," Tony had said with a sigh and shake of his head, reminding her of his father. "I can't back down. I'm his son."

Tasha studied him for a long moment, then nodded, "I'll work out the details. Go get ready, and think about the possibilities, arm to the teeth. Better to have it and not need it, then need it and not have it."

"This is way out of proportion," Tony says now with a breath, shaking out his shoulders to keep them loose, his bow in hand, sword on hip and other blades on his person over the leather armor of his father.

"I agree, this is a bit much," Autumn comments, her medicine bag on her shoulder as she looks through a gap in the slats of the wall to look at the filled stadium of spectators.

"Just stay focused, don't panic, remember the training and the basics," Tasha says from beside him, easy and calm, and the effect spreading to him, his nerves settling as they both ignore the Celtic Witch. "When you tire, that means he is too, even if he isn't showing it, so keep at it, and when subtle and fancy fails, fall back on simple, tried and true."

Tony nods, patting the Viking styled axe on his hip Jark had given him for just that purpose, and remembering the stories of Richard's fights that were reduced to one weapon or none.

"Any intel on what his fighting style is?" Tony asks, still bouncing on his toes to keep the blood flowing and mentally going through the fight.

"No, and that bothers me as well," Tasha says with a sigh, looking over at one of her were-leopards, the Horde's security expert with the expedition.

"His mother is Creole, local, and that's how he's related to the locals, but his father was Bavarian, he was raised by both parents in the circus his father was a performer at, we still don't know what his specialty was," the lean man in his thirties says, glancing at a notepad with specifics. "Father died when he was twelve, mother moved here with him to finish raising him, the mother's side of the family has ties with LeFuer, and when the two youths got along, arranged the marriage."

"Education?" Tasha asks, knowing the details there are pertinent, even if Tony doesn't.

"Home schooled until he left the circus, then finished his High School degree in two years," the man says, flipping to another page. "Was taking AP classes, science and magic theory. We don't have specifics yet, as our contacts aren't solid yet in the college he's at. Works at the butcher's shop for family, who provides room for him near the college, bounces at a nearby club for spending money. Family's fighting style is more cut and thrust swashbuckler, quick and fast."

"A guy used to bouncing tough guys drinking, but likely taught to parry and thrust," Tasha says.

"And has an interest in both tech and magic," Autumn adds, to which Tasha and Tony both nod thoughtfully.

"That doesn't narrow the field much," Tony mutters, walking up to the horse he will be riding for the match, the arena an old high school football stadium re-purposed for a fight arena, with sand instead of turf, like old roman coliseums.

"So be prepared for anything," Tasha warns, holding the bridle of the horse as he mounts, "But be patient, don't strike in anger or rage, think and look for his weak points. Everything has a weakness, look for it, then exploit it."

Tony nods, his eyes on the door in front of him that starts to slowly open as Tasha moves away to walk quickly up to her box to watch the fight. He settles the mount in the noon light streaming into the dim waiting area, letting his eyes and his mount's adjust before trotting forward slowly. He has on leather armor, a shield on the saddle of the horse of thick oak and steel facing it with a yin-yang as the boss in the center. He does not shade his eyes under the bandanna he wears on his head, glancing around with his eyes for only a moment then forcing his gaze away from the huge crowd to where the doors opposite him slowly open, over a hundred yards distant.

Out rolls what at first looks like a car, but as he looks closely, it more closely resembles a tricycle motorcycle, but with a greatly enlarged back section. As he watches it slowly roll out, a cacophony of noise roils across the field at him, the contraption powered by a magic engine of some sort. Gaston is standing in the back of it, exposed in the sun from the waist up wearing only a t-shirt in the light winter wind of the deep south. Tony does not wait, the bout starting now that Gaston has passed the line outside the gate, pulling arrow from his quiver and loosing a projectile across the distance.

The arrow arcs up past mid-field, and arcs down as Gaston lowers into the back of his armored chariot, plates clicking into place over him. The arrow skips off the heavy armor, passing through what would have been his target's shoulder. Tony spurs his horse to a charge, squinting at his opponent as he charges, his mind racing to figure out how to defeat an armored magic chariot. He angles to the side as a puff of orange blue smoke erupts from the front of the vehicle, and something whizzes past him and his mount, too fast to see what it was.

The chariot tries to turn, but its turning radius is bigger than his and he quickly has his own horse beside the armored front right chassis of the vehicle. He studies it at a glance while pulling two arrows from his back, both steel through the core and with hard steel heads, pulling and shooting at what looks like a weld in the metal. The arrows bounce with a loud clang, and he shies his mount to the right, away from the chariot, the spatter from the shot spooking his horse.

He tries to ride alongside again, but is out of room in the arena and must turn across the front of the thing. He ducks down and drops from the saddle to the horse's right side, away from the machine, just as the puff of magic smoke erupts. Again small objects flying fast snap past him, inches overhead, and his horse bucks from an impact as it crosses the front of the line of fire. He bounces on his feet from the ground to the saddle, using more upper body strength than he should to do it, being less proficient than he would like in his horsemanship.

His horse, a black mare with gray dapples, has a puncture on her left side, upper ribcage but below the spine, having penetrated through the saddle. Tony gives it only a glance and his handling grows rougher to keep the horse focused on fighting and survival as he spins fast around and inside the chariot's turning circle again and coming up on it's rear. He grabs two explosive heads from his quiver and fires both simultaneously at the back end, the plate there only scorched from the effort. He had slowed for the shot, even at close range, fifteen yards, and spurs the horse to a sprint to pull close and alongside the moving vehicle. He pulls a steel arrow and two explosives, the steel warhead in the center, pulling both past his maximum draw of the composite recurve bow of sinew, horn and ash while standing in the stirrups.

The steel core arrow punches into the dent already created by the previous arrows at the weld, punching into it and bending the metal around it. The arrows alongside are delayed blast heads, and the tips scrap along and into the small puncture made by the steel arrow. The explosion creates a two foot wide, uneven hole in the center front of the chariot, the noise dying away as the damaged engine dies. Tony is oblivious, the blast sending shrapnel into his horse's face, and he fights to stay mounted, but after a few seconds of bucking, is thrown from the saddle to land awkwardly on the sand. His breath is knocked from him, but he rises otherwise unharmed, and he staggers to his feet as he looks across at the heap of metal and magic parts that Gaston is cocooned in.

He takes a breath and tosses the broken bow to the side, the quiver from his back following it, lightening his load. He walks to where the horse is still startled, grabbing his shield from the saddle then backing away from the beast, the only thing he really might need from it. He is turning to the chariot as the back section humps and pushes, the deformed plates pushing against some magic fueled mechanism to open. The back opens up, but it is not Gaston in his shirt and open-faced, but an armored behemoth instead, the giant of a young man armored head to toe with a suit of steel that has no exposed areas.

"Well, damn," Tony says as he works his mouth and looks at his opponent, reminded of comic books depicting an avenger who wore mechanical armor at all times, with no vulnerabilities.

Gaston raises an arm and points it at Tony, and with reflexes taught by the Ragnarsons he crouches and makes himself small against the back of his shield. A small explosion rocks the arena and he is shoved back slightly in the sand, three arrowheads protruding completely through the heavy shield and nearly piercing his arm holding it. Tony stares at the arrowhead missing his wrist by half an inch for a half breath, then stumbles up to his feet and starts to shift to his right, trying to circle his opponent and get closer.

Gaston is pushing glowing glyphs on the arm of the armor that had fired, and Tony angles close, but the larger, heavily armored opponent lowers his arm before he can get in striking distance. Tony darts to his left then spins on his toes and crouches, the explosion sounding and he is flipped backwards, the bolts hitting the top of the shield hard. Tony is lying on top of his shield, having done a full backflip, but he shifts forward then back, Jark having made him practice this maneuver until he was sick of it. He rolls back on his feet, his weight primarily on his right back leg, toes of his left foot on the ground as the axe from his belt is drawn back with his right hand.

With the force of his whole body he hurls the heavy headed axe forward at the armored foe, ten feet away. The blade spins in a frenzy as Gaston turns away in an attempt to dodge, but the blade hits the back right shoulder and buries in three inches. Gaston stumbles under the impact, the armor powered only waist up by the small magic engine in the backpack of the suit, the legs muscle powered. Tony pulls a throwing knife from his bandoleer, and throws it as hard as he can at the figure's back, again and again until he is out of knives. The knives bounce off without injuring him, but allows Tony to approach quickly, his shield still on the ground.

Gaston has stumbled forward under the onslaught and now turns as Tony is next to him, and the German/Creole youth twitches his wrists, chains flicking out from his wrists, dazzling with flashing lights of magic. Tony jumps and rolls, rising with the katana in hand five feet in front of Gaston as the larger man draws back his whip-like weapons to attack. Tony does not think of the details, jumping over one, then the other of the weapons, just as he would the balls thrown at him from Floki during training. He twists and spins while jumping and nearly somersaulting, having done some gymnastics before arriving in Houston and his training since focusing on evasion of injury. His blade dances around him out of habit, deflecting close calls to complete misses, and he lands after a few long breaths toe to toe with his opponent.

He ducks under the big metal fist that swings at him, shifting his feet and pivoting, rising with sword high at Gaston's back. He steps back while cutting down hard, bisecting across the armored figure's back. She shuffles backwards as the muffled noise from the magic engine takes on a strangled sound, and Gaston is frantically pulling his helmet off. He drops it unceremoniously to the ground, ripping off his breastplate then dropping the back piece and shuffling forward as fast as he can. The pack explodes in an unremarkable burst, and Tony circles around the smoking pile of metal to where Gaston is on the ground next to his chariot, working to get his armored lower half off.

As the catch releases and he sprawls free of the heavy metal casing, Tony has lowered his blade and rests it on Gaston's neck gently. The larger man, on his back and sprawled out beneath him, freezes and glowers at him. Tony raises an eyebrow inquiringly, and the other clenches his jaw for a few moments, then nods silently. Tony steps back, his blade moving with him, and he turns from his opponent, sheathing his blade with a flourish on reflex. He does not hear the cheer of the crowd as his mind starts screaming at him that he had almost died.

He also does not hear Gaston rise up and throw a small object at the engine of the chariot he is walking past. The fist sized rock explodes like a grenade on the engine, and Tony rocks to the side, dazed, rising to his knees as a second explosion rises from the underside of the vehicle. The second blast knocks Gaston's frame aside, arced high with a dagger to plunge into Tony from behind, sending a wave of concentrated magic water from the vehicle's fuel cell. The water lands on Tony, drenching him, the magic more than twenty times denser than normal magic water used to power magic engines during the magic waves.

The power of it hits him hard, and pain sheets over his skin, tearing a hoarse bellow from his chest as he curls into a ball in the arena, then twisting and arcing his back against the pain brought by the pool of fuel he is lying in.

Tasha has a foot on the rail of her viewing box the moment she sees Gaston reach into his belt and flick the object towards the broken vehicle. She leaps from her box halfway up from the sand in the stands and lands nearly in the arena, taking another pair of bouncing strides then vaulting the rail to the sands. She lands and sprints to where a kaleidoscope of colored flames are dancing from the magic water, two figures writhing in the fire. Her beast revolts but she clenches her jaw and darts in with her cloak hastily wrapped over her upper body and head with only her eyes peering through a fold of the cloth.

She slides in the slick area the young men are lying in, she grabs and unceremoniously heaves the first body aside and out of the flames, Gaston. She bends and scoops the other figure while still moving forward and leaps out the other side off balance, nearly falling on Tony. Her body is itching and burning, the magic having permeated her pores and being, filling her up and her inner self is stretching against her skin as she lays Tony down on the sand clear of the fire. She staggers to the side and roars into the sky as fur erupts from her body and she rises to nearly seven feet tall, her warrior form larger and sleeker than before.

The magic is still filling her inside, though demanding release and use, and she crouches and hammers the sand as she fights not to lose control of the power. Her animal is raging as she crouches and glares at the ground, her vision slowly clearing from the multicolored haze to her normal sight. She rises up to look around and notes the additional details she can pick up with her senses, the magic boosting them higher than normal.

Autumn is leaning over Tony, the White Vohl that had accompanied them, Stanaslov Milovsky, with her and both working on Tony's writhing form. She takes stock of herself, noting that she now has a slight ruff in the back of her neck she did not have before in warrior form, as well as six faint stripes across her back, not very dissimilar from Richard's tigerstripes. Knowing how it felt to be exposed to the flames of the magic water, she wonders and worries just what the effect will be on Tony, with no training in magic and way to easily use it.

Autumn is sitting next to the bed Tony is lying in, his form still and eyes closed. She is exhausted, she and Stanislov having used every trick they knew to stabilize the youth from the burns he had sustained. The magic flames had cooked him as normal fire would, and had permeated his being as well, filling up the human with more magic potential than anyone she had ever encountered. Time would tell if the effect is permanent or if it will simply fade as it is used and never return.

More permanent, however, is the actual scarring the seventeen year old had endured, second and third degree burns over a third of his body. The trauma had been bad, and the left half of his face is a mass of scar tissue, looking like a wax sculpture left in the sun to melt. Not only that, but the scars are multicolored as though tie-dyed with a rainbow of colors, melding and merging in waves that dance across the rippled skin.

"He's not out of the woods, yet," Stanislov says from her side, drying his hands on a towel, having been covered with blood to his elbows, as Autumn's still are. "The burn trauma is real, and he's running a fever, induced by the magic he's absorbed. I don't understand how it's still affecting him, though, the tech took over an hour ago."

Autumn snorts and looks down at the drying blood on her hands that belongs to her nephew, "Magic never leaves the world, it's always there, ankle deep even at low tide. If it's strong enough in a person or thing, it'll manifest even when the tech is here… that's why. The magic has him, and it'll take magic to save him."

Stanislov slows his movements as he sets the towel down on the table, his eyes looking in the distance unfocused as he absorbs the statements she'd absently made about magic. He looks at her, his mouth tight, then nods to himself and steps up behind her and gently places a hand on her shoulder.

"We've done what we can, for now," he says softly. "Neither of us is any good to him if we pass out from exhaustion. Go clean up, I'll watch him."

Autumn blinks, his words sinking in and then nodding, absently patting his clean hand with her bloody one. She rises roughly and almost staggers from the room to clean up and rest.

The phone in the cabin rings and Jocelyn bounces to her feet from the living room, energetically bounding over the couch to land next to the end table with the phone. She picks it up with a grin as Mischa is standing in the door to the kitchen, having stood from the table to get the phone.

"Michaels residence, Jocelyn speaking," she says, sticking her tongue out at Mischa with a grin.

"What's up short stuff?" Richard asks over the line, a smile in his voice.

"RICK!" Jocelyn says, beaming into the phone. "I knew you'd be okay! Did you kick whoever's ass took you?"

"Language," Richard admonishes through the phone.

Jocelyn sighs and rolls her eyes, "Fine."

"And yes, I took care of them," he says. "Is Mischa or Tasha around? I need to talk to them about Horde business."

"Hold on," she says, handing the phone to Mischa, then returning to her book on the living room floor.

"Everything okay?" Mischa asks as she takes the wireless phone with her outside onto the patio.

"More or less," he says with a sigh through the phone, and she can detect weariness in his voice. "Is the plan going right?"

"Just as we set up," she replies with an unseen nod. "Tasha is in Baton Rouge now, settling matters there and prepping for the next phase. There was a problem though…"

She trails off pensively, glancing back at where Jocelyn is inside and she lowers her voice while stepping to the picnic table in the back.

"Tony was in a duel, against the young man betrothed to Rebecca," she says anxiously, licking her lips apprehensively. "He won, but the guy caused an explosion with magic water. Tony got burned and infused with magic real bad. Autumn and Stanaslov, the White Vohl, have done what they could, but he's in a coma, they don't know if he'll make it."

There's silence on the other end of the phone for a long moment, and if it were not for her enhanced senses allowing her to hear his breath, she would wonder if he had hung up. Instead she waits as she hears his labored breathing calm after a few long moments.

"Thank you for the update," he says through the line, his voice blank. "I need to call Mitchell. Tell Tasha I love her, and that I'll see her in New Orleans."

The line goes dead and Mischa wonders what he will do, knowing him well enough to realize he has something in mind, and nothing good.

James flinches as Richard punches the pole next to the telephone booth, splinters flying into the distance from the blow. Richard is still breathing calmly, and the larger were-tiger turns away and ignores the outburst, wondering at the conversation. Richard turns back to the phone and picks up the receiver, inserting coins and again dialing, this time to Mitchell.

Mitchell looks down at his pocket and pulls out the vibrating flip phone from the waterproof bag. He flips it open and listens as the Khan speaks immediately. He only nods and comments briefly, giving numbers and specifics of the Agoge candidates on occasion, then nodding unseen to Richard as he receives instructions. He closes the phone and turns to the formation of training going on not far away, getting ready to change the plan, though not really unexpectedly. The Khan is always adjusting the plan, but then he makes expansive and multiple plans specifically for that reason, to allow them the ability to adapt and improvise.

Richard walks down the street on the outskirts of New Orleans, the town of Slidell, just outside the influence of Kalypso, and the location of one of the largest casinos in the South. Not aligned with Roland, but an independent gambling establishment run by normal businessmen who had all acquired wealth unexpectedly. Almost as though they had made a deal with someone who is able to make dreams and wishes come true… at a price. He turns into the front lobby of the casino's hotel, walking directly to the storefront that shows suits and dress apparel.

Two hours later he, James and the old hobo walk out of the store, he and James in fine wool suits with cream colored vests under the charcoal grey material. Their black ties are sharp on the linen collars of their white shirts, both having washed and gotten haircuts while the suits were tailored. James is now shaved bald with a tight goatee on his ebony skin, Richard with three inch long brown hair on his head combed back and a nearly wild goatee an inch long. The hobo had refused a fine suit, but had accepted simple khakis, a blue shirt with a white collar and a sweater to wear under the new brown tweed jacket, brown leather shoes on his feet.

As they walk out of the store, three men are waiting for them, all in black suits and ties, impeccable white shirts, all in the finest silk. The man in the lead has black hair slicked back and a pencil thin mustache and goatee framing his beaming white smile as he walks forward, the other two wearing sunglasses and looking like action figures, bodyguards. Richard's own kurki is strapped brazenly to his right thigh, like a revolver from an old movie. The old hobo has only an old banjo slung across his back with twine for a sling.

"Mr. Michaels, it is a pleasure to meet you in person, and we are ecstatic that you have decided to avail yourself of the services we can provide here at the Perdition Casino," the man says with a bow as he clasps his white gloved hands before him.

"I'm not one for games, I am a busy man, and have things to do," Richard says with a frown of distaste, James behind him with his jacket open and weapon hilts exposed.

"Your boss told you I was coming, and I presume why," he says firmly, meeting the man's eyes.

"Yes," the man says with a tilt of his head and a nod. "The main gaming room is being prepared below, if you will follow me," the man says with a sweeping gesture, and leads Richard and his companions into the bowels of the structure.

They are led down flights of stairs until they are four levels underground, and led into a high ceilinged room with gambling tables spread around it. The lighting is soft electric lights with feylanterns next to them should the magic shift into the world. The carpet is exquisite and the hundred people shifting around the floor are all dressed expensively, silk and lace abound, this the high stakes area of the casino. They are led through the crowd, which parts for them, to a large table that is roped off with velvet tassels and raised slightly from the floor.

The guards do not search or ask for their weapons, and the blatant display by himself and James does not go unnoticed or commented upon by those in the room. Murmurs and mutters are circulating as the velvet rope parts to allow Richard entrance to the main table, four others at the table waiting, all but one standing as he walks to one of the cushioned chairs. The three that stand are two men and a woman, all dressed even more expensively than the rest in the room, each with grey in their hair and lines of age on their faces, experienced players. The fourth is younger, in his thirties, leaning back with rakish red hair on a tanned face and lean body, his long fingers shuffling the deck with a flourish.

"You 'im?" the seated man asks, tilting his head to the side to study Richard with pale grey eyes, his relaxed pose at ends with the focus of his eyes.

"I'm Richard Michaels," he replies, gesturing James to where a seat is placed behind him, the hobo sitting cross legged nearby and pulling his banjo out.

"Non, mon ami," the man says with a smirk, shaking his head. "No psudonyms or aliases here, yer reel name."

Richard thinks for a moment, then says firmly, "I am the Khan."

The man raises an eyebrow, then nods his head and speaks with his Cajun accent, "Good. You come to play, ti wager fer a boon. You know de price te play, wha' yi stand te lose?"

"I do," Richard says, knowing that those around do not understand, but the words holding meaning to him and the man across from him, the Devil's champion. "I want my son restored to health, with no restrictions, no disabilities."

The man smirks, "He keeps his promises, you know dis. Sit, and play."

Richard does not move, but extends his hand out, waiting. The man's hands still, and he smirks while tilting his head sheepishly, as though caught in the act of something illicit. The man who had greeted Richard outside the tailor's places a scroll in his hand, and Richard opens and reads the scroll in its entirety, ensuring the details of the contract are what he wants. There is no written subterfuge he can tell from the writing, and he nods, pricking the thumb of his right finger with his shifted forefinger claw, then placing a bloody fingerprint on the signature line.

"Let's play," he says finally, setting the scroll beside him on the table as he sits and receives a stack of chips.

The dealer opens a fresh deck of cards as the others all sit and deals Texas Hold 'em Poker to the table.

Maddie is sitting in New Orleans near the docks, two others from the Agoge next to her, she being the leader of this reconnaissance of the landing area. The ships Tasha and the attack force will be bringing will come here to land and raid inwards to the witch's mansion. She and others from the Agoge selected specially by Mitchell are surveying the area and planting explosives as well as placing targeting markings for the landings. She had no idea how detailed Rick's contingency plans had been, but she is watching the flow of people along the riverwalk while a were-fox from the Agoge marks the dock with chalk, unseen by passerby.

The marks look like graffiti, but are localized to certain areas that are good for landings and have routes to the inner city and have angles of protection against the defenders. Others from the Agoge will be updated from her and the other recon leaders of the details so they can guide the landings to the right routes. Then when they land, they will lead them on the best routes to the actual defenders and minimize the civilian damage and injuries.

Maddie turns as the wind shifts, her hand length long brown hair wild in the wind as she dangles a leg a few inches from the water. Her thoughts are momentarily caught from her as she considers the trials and tribulations she's endured the last months, starting with her sixteenth birthday to leading a high risk mission deep in the territory of a witch goddess of the sea. She smirks against the sea salted wind, her right hand absently rubbing the bone handled knife on her belt, the only weapon her real father had ever owned. Richard had given it to her months after she'd arrived at the Bastion, when the remains of her old house had been forwarded to them in Houston, and the real reason she had accepted him as a father figure, his honesty.

He will never be her father, her real dad was a good man who just wanted to raise his children with no distractions, but fate had decided otherwise. But Rick and Tasha have tried so hard to be good parents, when they have no reason or obligation to, and the last few months have really driven that home to her. She has no idea if she and Joachim will survive as a couple, she emerging through the training as a leader and he as just following orders. She chafes at that _wonderful_ discussion she will have to have with Joachim later, but that is later, and she instead looks at the rolling waves of the sea and the ships drifting off the coast instead, enjoying the simple pleasure of a mission going well.

Richard is sitting at the table with only two others now, the two older men having lost all their chips and being escorted away by the guards. Richard had noted that all those at the table but the young man have a scroll beside them like he does, all those here having betted their souls for a boon from Beezlebub. The old woman, an Asian lady he thinks is Chinese but is unsure as she has said not a word, and only looks at him or the others with narrowed eyes and extremely cool expressions. The woman is the short stack of the group at the moment, with Richard and the other man nearly equal in their stacks of chips.

Richard had been a good poker player as a human, his ability to remain calm and cool having lent him the ability to hide his intentions and thoughts from opponents both in combat and at the table. Since shifting, he now has the ability to sense more of his opponents, able to hear the heartbeats of others, smell their sweat, pheromones released from stress and excitement. He has used this ability to his advantage when making his deals with Hoffman Resources, his face to face interactions a requirement to doing business allowing him to sift through the wheat and chaff of business. That is one of the reasons for his company's nearly meteoric rise to the Fortune 500 and his successful navigation of the politics of expanding the influence of the Horde.

The woman is a difficult read, however, she controls her emotions incredibly well, her heart rate almost never shifting or changing, problematic to read. The man across from him with the grey eyes though, he is impossible to read, as he has no reactions to his cards, his heartrate constant and steady regardless of whether he is bluffing, winning, losing, or anything else. The time is affecting the woman, and as the next cards are dealt, he can sense the slight hitch in her heartrate and the ever so slight flutter of her nostrils, though her expression and pose is unchanged.

She places her bet, doubling the blind, and Richard pauses only briefly before matching the bet, about ten percent of his stack. The man across from him shoves his entire stack forward without a hesitation, having glanced only briefly at his own cards with no reaction. Richard had glanced at his own cards, holding a four and five of clubs, nothing special, a potential straight or flush, or if paired with the community cards could be paired or more. The woman pauses for a moment, then shoves her own stack in, both her and the grey eyed man all in, Richard the only one having not committed.

Whichever one wins the hand will have a huge advantage, even if Richard does not commit, nearly double the chips and having to fight uphill. He knows, however, that the other man is as capable of reading the woman as he is, based on his reactions to the other players over the last seven hours, tech still holding the world. The woman got a good hand, the reason she bet, and the man knew that and bet anyway, pushing the all in as though bluffing without seeing the flop. But the woman had bet anyway, meaning she likely has a high pair of cards, suited or not, and has a high percentage chance of winning the hand. That the man bet anyway means he thinks he has a chance of beating a high percentage hand.

These thoughts race through his head in an instant, and his head rewinds and replays the woman's reaction to her cards and her betting, mentally parsing the nuances of her actions and previous actions. His mind is tired but not dulled, and after a breath of thought, he nods as he pushes his own stack of chips forward. The room gasps as they all realize that all three players are committing this hand to deciding the winner of the game, all the stakes, both the money on the table, half a million dollars, as well as the unknown balance of four souls.

"Show your hands," the dealer says with a slight Creole accent, gesturing the woman first.

She flips a pair of tens, a club and a heart, to which the crowd murmurs, a good initial hand with good odds for winning. The grey eyed man nods with an amused smirk, flipping a pair of aces, a spade and a diamond. The crowd mutters louder at this, the pair much higher and much more likely to win the hand. Richard's expression is blank as he flips his own cards, revealing his two low clubs, and the muttering is low and concerned, the hand not likely to win the game.

The dealer buries three cards to the side and then flips three cards, a nine of diamonds, a queen of hearts, and the two of clubs. Muttering circles the room as the dealer waits for quiet, the woman at the table tightening her mouth as the chances of her hitting another ten dropping significantly. As quiet descends on the room, the dealer buries another card to the side and flips the draw, showing the Ace of clubs, and the crowd grows excited. The grey eyed man has the best hand so far, and if a ten comes up, he'll still beat the woman by the house rules.

The excitement dies down to a low murmur and silence as Richard leans back in his chair and forces himself to calm, knowing his future is in the hands of God and fate, as it always is. The dealer buries a card in the discard pile, the room silent, even the hobo who has stilled his fingers over the strings of the banjo he has been playing since the start of the game. The last card, the river, is flipped and laid alongside the others, the three of clubs. The room explodes in cheers and exultation for the winner, Richard winning the hand and the game with a straight flush, ace, two, three, four and five of clubs.

Richard exhales, releasing his contained and hidden tension, rising from the table as the crowd continues to cheer. He picks up his scroll, as well as the other three from the pile of chips, waving absently at the mound of money represented on the felt of the table.

"Have ten percent cut to the house," Richard says to the moustachioed man as his grey eyed opponent glares at him from where he is still seated. "And the rest wired to my accounts in Houston. I'll have someone contact you on the details."

Tony gasps and sits upright suddenly, blinking his eyes against the light streaming in from the side, feeling things taped to his arms, face and body, and he starts to pull at them as hands grab him. The hands gently but firmly push him back on the bed, and though he fights them they are too strong, and hold him like iron. His ears are ringing, the sound thick and sharp, painful, and his vision is blurry, outlines and blurry images only. After a few moments of useless thrashing, he slows and stills, the ache along his skin dull but details sensitive to him.

The ringing is clearing from his ears, though his breath and heartbeat are still loud to him. As the ringing subsides, voices become murmurs and a soothing voice is closer than the others, and he relaxes as he recognizes Aunt Autumn's voice, though not her words.

"…. okay now, it's Autumn, I'm here. Can you hear me?" she is saying, repeating.

"I can hear you now," he rasps, his mouth thick as though swabbed with cotton, and he works his mouth.

"Water," she says softly, and a moment later a straw is at his lips, and he bends his head to sip it carefully, though the arms holding him do not release him.

"What happened?" he asks, blinking against the light, realizing it is actually just the lamp on the end table, not the sun.

"You got drenched and burned with concentrated magic," Autumn says softly, and he winces at the sound, background noises reaching him as well.

"Is someone hammering something?" he asks, turning his head. "It's too loud."

There's a moment of pause, and Autumn asks for someone to get Tasha, and the hammering is loud again, followed by a slam, but it mutes the other sounds again. He turns and squints as he looks around, the scene sharp to his eyes, and he is confused as he can pick out minute details despite only a single lamp being lit in the room. The glances at the window past the shapeshifters holding him down and can see the clear night sky, picking out the pinpricks of light from stars.

"I can see everything," he says softly as he looks back at Autumn, who has a pensive expression on her face, the White Vohl behind her with a hand on her shoulder.

"The magic fused with you, and is probably going to have some side effects, we're not sure what yet," she says softly, what he now realizes is a soft murmur, though he can hear it clearly and distinctly as though she were speaking normally.

"Sensitive hearing and vision," he murmurs, glancing at the four men holding him down. "Are they necessary?"

"We weren't sure if you'd ever wake up," she says with a worried frown. "Ten minutes ago you started shaking and thrashing. We didn't want you to hurt yourself or anyone else."

She nods to the shapeshifters who release him slowly and back off cautiously to the edges of the room. He adjusts himself on the bed and looks at the IV in his arm, but stops as he stares at the burned skin on his forearm and shoulder, both bare. The skin is melted and scarred, but also holds an iridescent sheen of colors that look like a rainbow mixed in a blender and poured over the damaged skin. The colors shift slowly and the colors are distinct on his skin, and he follows the burn on his shoulder up to his neck, then raises his hand and gently touches his jaw, cheek and face. His face is tight now as he looks at Autumn with an expectant expression, to which she only nods, handing him a mirror.

He pauses, then raises the glass, staring at the perfect right side of his face, and the scarred and dyed left side, the cheek intact but the left eyelid nearly gone, blinking and barely covering the eye, but the eye discolored as well. He closes his right eye experimentally, and can tell that his vision is now better in his left eye, and he swallows as he tries to figure out what that means.

Richard reins in his horse outside the old aircraft hanger, west of Slidell and well north of New Orleans, across the large bay and inland ten miles. The large open field is pockmarked with divots filled in with dirt and some cobbles, once a runway for a small scale airfield, and still marginally functional. He is still wearing the suit and tie, James on a horse beside him, the hobo having wandered off after the game. Richard dismounts and walks the last fifty yards to the hanger, the door of which is only open a few feet, but from which a figure in dirty overalls and a grease stained shirt exits. Richard is looking at him expectantly with his shirt unbuttoned, his hair and face shaved to short stubble.

"Mr. Michaels?" the man asks, a thick shouldered man with a shaved head in his thirties, a grease monkey through and through with a dirty rag in his hands.

"Is it ready?" Richard asks as he nods, stopping a few yards in front of the man.

"Yeah, it's ready," he says, looking at the other man. "It's a one seater, though, no room for passengers."

"That's all I need," he says with a nod, turning to James. "Take the horses and the money, head to Houston. When you get there someone will contact you from the Horde, they'll get you settled in at the Bastion."

"Where are you going?" the larger man asks, his dark brows knitted together as the mechanic pushes open the doors of the hanger.

"I'm going to war," Richard says, walking into the gloom and the antique vehicle waiting for him.

He pauses as James rides away outside, though, staring at Autumn who is sitting on a high stool inside the gloom to the side, hidden from view. He had scented her, but sent James away, guessing he needs to speak with her one on one. The mechanic walks up behind Richard and gestures at her as he approaches.

"She got here yesterday, said she'd wait for you," he says roughly. "When you're finished, I'll give you the ground class refresher course."

The mechanic walks to a small office to the side in the hanger, and Autumn is scowling at Richard while she walks past him to the outside, her heavy staff in hand. James is far in the distance and she turns on him as he emerges from the opening of the large hanger.

She thrusts the staff forward hard, and he does not block or dodge, taking the hit hard on the solar plexus, bending over from the strike. He is gasping and trying to regain his lost breath as she just yells at him incoherently for a long moment.

"What was that for?" he asks, slightly confused, not believing he warranted the injury.

"You're the Khan of Houston and heal fast, I should be allowed to hit you hard with satisfyingly heavy objects when you deserve it!" she says angrily. "Are you _incapable_ of not taking risks? I mean it, really, honestly, it's a serious question. Do you look at your options and say to yourself," she leans back and speaks in a mock deep voice as she plants her hands on her hips to imitate him lording over something. " 'Hmm, that looks too easy, I can't do that'."

She then leans over and smacks him on the shoulder with the end of the staff again, not as hard, but still bruising.

"You run off on a recon with your son and two teenage Vikings," she says waving her arms as she yells at him. "Get captured and goddess only knows what else, because when you free yourself, you don't give updates, you just tell everyone to 'Continue Mission' and they just do it."

"Sis…" he starts, but she smacks him on the head with the end of the staff.

"I'm not finished," she says, still angry and needing to get it out of her system, not really hitting that hard. "Your son, who is trying his damnedest to live up the legend that is the Khan, Richard Michaels, nearly died and was in a coma for three days after he won a duel and was stabbed in the back afterwards. He wakes up, inexplicably, and unexplainably, and had an m-scan on him which has three different types of magic _in_ his blood, plus the magic signature of the water that nearly killed him."

She leans over and rests the end of the staff on his collarbone and stares at him hard in the eye with her own lowered brow that would intimidate any normal man. Her glaring at him and him firmly staring back only highlights their relation and would send anyone who witnessed it to turn around and leave them alone.

"I recognized another color there, and I _know_ who woke him up, it is clear to me, and I know how that works," she says firmly. "What did you do?"

Richard clenches his jaw a few times while glaring at her in return, "I have a history here, from when I was stranded in New Orleans. It's how I got out with the only other guy that survived with me, how I got a head start and luck when I ran."

"You sold your soul to _him_?" she snarls at him, her eyes nearly flashing with her own anger at him.

"Never," Richard growls in return. "I'm not an idiot. I'd rather die than sell it, but we needed a way out, and my buddy, he was captured, he was in deep, and was going to be bled out and sacrificed by Kalypso's cultists. He was the only one who never faltered and never gave up on me, he was my brother, when I had no one. I challenged _him_ , I bet my soul against the boon. I won, and he got me and my buddy out."

"You bet your soul," she says while looking at him critically, then smacks him on the side of the head. "You're an idiot."

"I had no choice," he says with a frown at her, rubbing his head, rising straight.

"Is that what you did to get Tony awake? Bet your soul _again_?" she asks angrily, staff resting on his shoulder as she looks at him critically, and he sighs.

"Yes, that's what I did," he says, snatching the end of the staff before she can swing it at him again. "I bargained and bet against his champion and three other champions, and I won. Hear me? I _won_. No, I'm not happy or thrilled that _that_ is the way it had to go down, but it did, and it's done. And if there is a God in heaven that truly loves me, I will always be the one to risk my body, mind and _soul_ for my children and my FAMILY!"

He snarls the last at her, shoving the staff away to the side and turning from her, reaching up and grabbing his thick hair. The stresses of the last weeks piling on him and grating, and her accusations and attitude not helping.

"You know how fucked up the world is, sis," he growls out, looking at the setting sun in the distance, storm clouds gathering south. "The golden age is gone, safety is an illusion, and I'm trying to forge a fucking nation while being a father figure to three kids, two of them teenagers, and more on the way, and lord above knows I have no fucking training on how to do anything but kill things with pointy objects and my _bare fucking hands_!"

He is roaring the last into the distance, breathing heavy and deep, keeping his beast in its cage within him as he forces his breath slower. He twitches when Autumn rests a hand on his shoulder, jumpy and frustrated beyond measure.

"There is no good answer, no solution to the problem that is safe and involves low risk, _none_ ," he says firmly. "I'm doing the best I can with what I got, and what I know. If you know anyone could figure this shit out, tell me, I'll gladly hand them the fucking reins and run off to fucking Canada with Tasha, Mischa and the kids. Otherwise, help or get out of the way, stop criticizing and sharpshooting, because it is damaging my tenuous grip on sanity and calm."

Autumn stands next to him silently for a long minute, her hand still gently on his shoulder, before finally speaking softly.

"That sounded overdue," she says tentatively, unsure after his outburst.

He sighs roughly, frowning at the distance, "I can't have a therapist, even if I need one. The best I got is Tasha, you and Mischa. And sometimes I can't tell you all everything because you _don't_ understand, even if you want to."

Autumn nods, frowning, and sighs as she replies gravely, "Heavy is the head that wears the crown."

Richard only nods slowly while frowning at the last light of day, his mind already on the challenges of the coming days. Autumn speaks up again, though, her voice worried as she speaks carefully.

"There's something else," she says softly, glancing at the hanger then back at him. "Tony should have died, from the burns and the magic in his system."

"You were there, I presume," and she nods, "you did good to keep him alive," Richard says with a sigh and a shrug, assuming she'd been there with him and had kept him from passing.

"No," she says firmly with a shake of her head and turning him to look at her and the look of concern and near fear in her eyes. "No, Stan was with me, and we both did our damnedest to save him, but he slipped, he was too damaged, and then the magic fell, and we couldn't do anything with the tech up. He should have died, but for reasons I can't fathom, he didn't."

Richard blinks slowly, frowning, "Scratch, maybe? He wanted me to challenge him, bad. He may have kept him from slipping, he does have hold over life and death… chances."

Autumn shakes her head firmly, "We ran the m-scan before and after he woke. That… _thing_ , didn't mess with him except to wake him up. It was something else."

Richard blinks and looks down while thinking, then looks skyward with open eyes, searching the blue sky, "Maybe he did answer my prayers, after all…"

James rides away from the hanger, his mind pondering the road ahead, as well as the road behind. The man called the Khan, Richard Michaels, was practically unknown to him before he had set him free at the facility. Practically being the functional word in the sentence, for once he met him and had slowly over the course of a week learned of him, he realized who he really was. The man is the Frank Marion of New Orleans, the man who had survived the cauldron of the magic flare nearly eight years ago and dragged out one other, when every other special operations unit and person died in an attempt to survive.

The man is a myth, a legend in the Special Operations community, and the story went that he was retired after the incidents, the President himself deciding he had done enough and letting him leave the service. He has not gotten the whole story, but he knows enough to realize who his rescuer was, what that means. It also opens his eyes to the lies the Major had told him, the misrepresentation to him and the other volunteers for the project. Then he had seen the actions at the crossroads against a demon from nightmare, as well as the card game with stakes he cannot begin to imagine.

He pauses at the intersection leading west, another branching south, and he glances at the horse he leads that Richard had given him. He turns to the southern road, determined to be at the side of the Khan in the battle to come, and not a mere traveler on the road when the conflict comes.

Richard is pushing up on the throttle of the antique airplane, racing down the pockmarked strip of concrete and asphalt north of New Orleans. It had once been on display in the World War 2 museum in New Orleans, and after the shift had been lost. He had paid to have it found and rebuilt, the day he started to make money at Hoffman Resources and it became obvious that he would one day return to Southern Louisiana. It cost more than he would admit to anyone, but now he banks the plane south, over the bay and towards the city that nearly killed him years ago.

The old P-51 Mustang is painted black with red accents and a logo of a red tiger on the sides and wings. There are .308 caliber machine guns in the wings, and extended gas tanks slung under it, no bombs. The defenses of the city are known, and his approach and flyby will be an announcement to his forces in the city and a slap in the face when he finds the Witch Goddess' house. Kalypso kept a mansion just off the whirlpool in the mouth of the bay, looking out over it at the sea, and she will see the approaching fleet any minute now.

The mission's intent is to land the Vikings and shapeshifters on the docks, fight to the mansion and depose the witch goddess. The US ships will stay off the coast as a blockade and keep the enemy ships from interfering. If Kalypso tries to drown the city, Thor will take to the sky and hold the waters at bay, and with Odin awake with the end of winter, the son of the Allfather is free to leave his side. Richard has a few other irons in the fire, though, and should help tip the tide further in his favor, as the stunt he is about to pull will help. On the other hand, Autumn is going to punch him for it, because it is risky, and dangerous, and… well… yeah, stupid.

So he brings the plane low over the water, nearly skimming the water as he prays silently for the tech to hold as he the city outlines itself in front of him. He picks out the twin spires from the witch's mansion and turns ever so slightly to his right, pushing up on the throttle to speed up. He closes fast, and he pulls up while pulling back on the collective of the engine, the power and bite of the blades slowing and the flying machine nearly stalling in flight. The result is a slow apex and he dives towards the mansion as the crosshairs on his windshield line up.

He squeezes the trigger and he fires unannounced at the glass atrium next to the sprawling complex, shattering the greenhouse. He angles and hundreds of bullets tear into the garage and stables, chewing across the front of the mansion's façade as well. He is pulling up and he notes that he is taking some fire from the ground, but not much, and small caliber, not designed to take down an airplane. He pulls away and gets some distance at an angle from the coast before angling to the side and lining up again, a slow dive from a thousand yards out and firing the tracers from his machine guns into the front of the building.

The bullets chew into the huge fountain out front, scattering horses and carriages, chewing up some cars parked there as well. As he pulls up from his dive and swoops over the house, he releases the spare gas tanks, which crash into the front of the house. He pulls out and then strafes from the opposite of his first pass and focuses on where it is likely the tanks landed in the house. He fires the last of his ammo as the house nearly explodes and flames lick up the walls and start to engulf the building.

He turns the plane from the burning house and it begins to spread outwards, lowering his plane to nearly water level as he checks his fuel state, hoping the fleet is where he thinks it is.

Tasha is sitting on the prow of the Viking longboat, a hundred men straining at the oars as the sail over them billows in the wind. The Northern wind is pushing them fast towards their target, and she fights the nervousness in her gut as they close to the confrontation without Richard, without their Khan.

Tony sits next to her, cross legged and his hands resting gently on the recurve bow across his knees. His senses had been enhanced to shapeshifter sensitivity, and she has been teaching him how to control and sift through the sounds, scents and sensations over the last week since he woke up. Autumn has shown him some magic runes to use his magic with, simple icons for strength and protection, and Tasha has taught him some as well. Autumn had gone to where Richard is likely to show up, having left four days ago, and hopefully having met up with him and giving him an update on her timeline with the attack on New Orleans.

The magic in Tony has not dimmed since he has woken up, it is as though he were imbued with the magical essences of multiple people who were strong with magic, as well as their natural recharge abilities. He can cast simple spells powerfully, but nothing complicated as he is not trained in how to use the energy available, that will take years of training. But he has focused on what he can do, his shooting and fighting, which has gained precision since his senses have heightened. Tasha is worried for the young man, having missed the socialization most teenagers get from high school, and now with a disfigurement that marks him as drastically different from others beyond being son to the Khan.

"It will be alright, milady," Thor says from beside her, wearing jeans and blue vest over a white t-shirt. His blond hair is tied behind his head to keep from flying in his face with the wind, a grey cloak wrapped over his shoulders.

Tasha looks at the assembled forces around them, forty ships total, twenty of them longboats of the Neo-Vikings, each with a hundred warriors rowing with another hundred in the ships, mixed shapeshifters and humans. The other twenty are US Navy and US Coast Guard, aligned with the Horde and the Vikings to rid New Orleans of Kalypso. The city is essentially hostage to the sea witch goddess who holds the sea at bay from flooding the hundreds of thousands that live below sea level. The main reason they have waited until the spring was to have Thor along, to hold the waters at bay with Mjolnir until the city can be evacuated or the levies rebuilt to hold the water.

Years of negotiations with Kalypso from the US Government had stalemated early, the Witch Goddess unwilling to allow the locals leave, requiring that only one family member could leave per year. But she required they return if another wished to leave, and with a population that was growing due to natural births, the hostage pool has grown. Some smuggle out by boat, but not enough compared to those who remain and the growth rate.

"I'd feel better if he were here," Tasha says simply, sighing, then frowning as a sound reaches her ears, a buzzing from the direction of the city rising on the horizon. As she looks, she notes a pillar of smoke rising just beyond the horizon as well, part of the city burning.

The sound grows louder until even the humans present can hear it, and the shapeshifter lookouts in the mast point at the speck in the distance. The speck grows larger until it is a set of wings behind and an engine with a glass canopy over it, black on the sky. The plane is black with a tiger in the likeness of the Khan painted on the underside in red. The ships cheer as they see the old World War II P-51 Mustang fighter plane bank over the assembled ships off the coast. Tasha is beaming at the plane as it finishes banking and turns to make another pass, low now in front of the ships.

The plane is low and the canopy pops off, a figure jumping from the seat as the plane dives into the water to tumble and shred itself in a crash against the sea. The figure flutters in the wind only a few hundred yards from the water, and a parachute expands and catches the air, then the figure is in the water. The chute disappears, and the ships are silent, watching and waiting.

Tasha is at the bow looking down as Richard climbs the heavy wooden bow of her ship, dripping water and his hands made claws giving him purchase. He climbs the carved dragon bow and stands atop it, pulling his kurki from his belt as he stands on the bobbing head of the dragon. He looks left and right slowly to take measure of the other ships, then he roars into the mid-morning sky, cheers and roars from the assembly joining him as he raises his kurki high.

Richard turns and hops from the bow, landing with a thud on the deck in front of where Tasha and Tony have stepped back to give him room. He is wearing a suit and collared shirt with a cream vest under it, what would have been an expensive suit before jumping in the ocean.

"Nice entrance," Tasha says, smiling at him as she steps close and hugs him.

He only kisses her briefly and turns and walks to Tony, his face concerned.

"How are you feeling? Autumn told me all that happened," he says.

"I'll be fine," Tony says with a stoic frown. "Now isn't the time, what's important is I can fight, and have magic. That will be needed in the attack."

Richard frowns, but nods and lays his hand on his son's shoulder, giving him a squeeze, the young man nodding in return, a male bonding moment.

"I am sorry I was not there, after your first contract, after the duel, or your injuries," he says softly, meeting his eyes, the message sent that he empathizes with the killing of his first man, and the absence since.

"I understand," Tony says with a firm nod and deep breath. "Aunt A was there, after the contract, she helped, and kept me alive after the duel. I was there when you were taken, so I understand, it wasn't your choice. And I did take two more contracts before we left town."

"Tony has been very helpful during our trip, as well," Tasha adds, sensing the conversation below the surface. "He helped us in Baton Rouge with the Merc Guild immensely."

"Really?" he asks, glancing at her and back to Tony.

Tony grins a real smile, pride as he speaks again, "After they learned I'd only been training with the Horde for a month or so before winning my duel, they are now eager to see what your training methods will yield for their profit margins."

Richard grins and reaches out, shaking the younger man's hand, then bringing him into a hug, allowed as a father. He holds him firm for a moment, patting his back.

"I'm glad you're okay, son," he says quietly, rubbing the other's head.

"Okay, pops," Tony says with a tight chuckle, the two parting. "Let's go invade Louisiana."

"The mansion is burning," he says firmly after a nod, looking to the ship at large. "I'll change into my armor, and then we should be ready for the attack."

Maddie is fighting against the excitement and tension in her frame as she waits against the grate on the edge of the street in New Orleans. Mitchell had pulled them from their training earlier this week, and all the Agoge candidates had travelled in small groups of four or less from north of Dallas to Louisiana. They had assembled in a run-down part of town, drawing their weapons and armor then returning to the underground tunnels. They are all now positioned just outside the Mansion of Kalypso, waiting for the signal from the Khan to attack. They had not been told what the signal would be, only that there would be no mistaking it.

She is watching now as the old warplane from nearly a century past flies away south, a pillar of smoke starting to rise from the burning house of the Witch Goddess. She tosses her head absently, noting that there is no escaping the fact that the invasion is on, begun in spectacular Khan Fashion. She turns to her team of five people, others from the Agoge given similar groups, though hers is the largest as the best leader among the candidates.

"Remember the plan," she says firmly to them all, her eyes fierce in the gloom of the tunnel. "Stay together, we sow chaos, get people to leave the city. Kalypso will try to kill them in retaliation and there's no guarantee that Thor can hold the waters at bay. We are trying to save as many as we can before the ships arrive, then we attack the rear of the defenders."

She nods at the others, none of them weak by this part of the process, and she turns, shoving the grate out of the way with her enhanced shapeshifter strength. She and the others wear only jeans, t-shirts and heavy leather vests with a few weapons each, to play to their strengths of speed and training. She leads them out of the dark with an absent rub on the handle of the gladius Rick had given her, then the dagger that was her father's as she starts jogging down the street.

She is less than a hundred yards from the grate though, and has only started to tell folks to leave the city, it is under attack, when they are confronted. Not by guards or soldiers alone, however, who all wear breastplate and greaves in the Greek style and with solid helmets. The group of forty soldiers also has a man in the lead, seven feet tall, wide in the shoulders with a lion pelt on his back, the head intact and over his shoulder. The man has thick brown hair and beard styled in curls and carries a battle axe in his hand, what would be a two handed thing but he carries it single handed.

"Ah, good, we don't have far to look," the man rumbles, spying them with piercing blue eyes. "The beasts have come out on their own, we shan't have to root through the gutters for them."

"Hold," Maddie says as she assesses the odds, the man in the center wearing only leather over his massive chest, but his scent reaching them and smelling… more than human.

"Surrender now, children, and we will not kill you all," the man says as he halts his own formation with a raised hand, staring at Maddie. "We require hostages to bargain with your Khan."

Maddie's eyes flash, "We are not children."

The man barks a harsh laugh and steps forward, a huge white grin on his face, spreading his arms wide, "Quite right, girl, you are beasts, creatures of the basest sentiment and thought. Holdovers from an age long gone and _not_ to return, should man hold his hand firm. And I mean to keep that grip strong."

Maddie is looking at him cautiously as he approaches to ten yards, wanting to charge and prove she is capable, but also knowing that they are both outnumbered and this guy is no normal fighter.

"Retreat," she says in a sharp tone of command, her wrist flicking behind her and throwing two throwing knives at the man.

The man laughs and turns his back, the two blades bouncing off the pelt of the lion without a scratch, and Maddie turns and runs. The others did similar to her, tossing a weapon and running, the soldiers ducking behind their shields. The large man has spun about and Maddie is no longer looking as he accepts a tossed spear from one of the men and hurls it at their retreating forms. A cry from her side causes Maddie to look to her right, where the were-tiger from the Xiang clan is pinned to a lamp post through the shoulder by the spear. She turns to help, and another spear slices the air her back had occupied a moment ago.

She pulls her sword and lunges, a deliberately off balance strike that cuts the back half of the spear cleanly through. Another spear has arced through the air as she swings, this one low, though, and has cut a gash across her trailing calf. She turns and grabs the Xiang, pulling him from the front shaft of the spear and pushes him away.

"Run!" she yells, reaching up and pulling the remainder of the spear from the pole and turning, trying not to favor one leg over the other.

The large man has been striding forward easily, hurling the spears after the retreating shapeshifters, but as she turns to face him, he holds the spear in his hand steady and pauses. She grasps and spins the gladius one hand, the spear haft in the other, feeling the balance. She prefers having a weapon in each hand, and the burn in her leg had told her immediately she needs time for it to heal so she can run. The man has stopped ten yards away, lowering his spear.

"Unexpected nobility, from so bestial a creature," the man booms, frowning at her in thought. "Tell me your name, puppy."

"I am Madelyn Summers, Agogite warrior of the Horde, and you will _not_ pass," she says in a low growl, spinning her weapons again, the blood on the spear still dripping, fowling her sense of smell.

The man frowns at her for a moment, discarding the spear to the side, then drops the axe as well, cracking his knuckles loudly as he approaches.

"The mistress requires captives, so… match me fist for fist, and if you win, you can leave," the man says with a smirk, spreading his arms from five yards away. "Refuse, and we kill you now."

Maddie swallows, sizing the man up thoughtfully, him outweighing her immensely, but with her shapeshifter reflexes and strength, she would be a match for a normal human. But the man's aim and power in the spear cast was incredible, meaning he is not a normal human, and her senses tell her the same. The soldiers with him are ready with their own spears to cast at her, so she has no chance of running. She drops her weapons to the side and squares off on his massive frame, her hands in front of her in a tilted Kung Fu stance. She adjusts her feet to rest on the balls in a cat stance as Rick had emphasized to her again and again since she started learning.

"Ha!" the man barks, "you are smaller than the others, so there is no honor in beating you, but it will pass the time until your champions do arrive."

Maddie fights not to lose her nerve and run, or charge for that matter, her instincts telling her that he is far stronger than her. She mentally repeats to herself to use his strength and attacks against him, and she waits patiently as he strides confidently towards her. He lashes out with an open hand to grab her hand, and she pivots and shifts, grabbing his wrist and pulling him off balance. She shifts her leg and shoves while moving around him, trying to shove his arm behind him in a wrist lock.

Despite the leverage, he muscles out of the arm lock, twisting towards her and she shuffles quickly in an attempt to stay away from getting grabbed by the other arm. She only shuffles for a half turn then jerks him close and knees him hard in the upper thigh on the side before letting go and shoving him back to get space. He had grunted at the impact, shaking the leg out with a frown at her, then shakes his hands to his side loosely for a long moment. He studies her carefully with a deep grunt, and approaches again, this time more cautiously and in a crouch. She watches him critically, ducking a high punch from his left, but it was a feint, and his right licks out like a viper and grabs her left forearm.

She twists and jabs him in the center of his chest, where Rick had taught her the solar plexus was, her palm connecting the bone. The man grunts but does not react otherwise, bringing her closer and grabbing her right shoulder with his left hand. She tries to roll her arm out of it, but his hands are massive and like steel clamps. With a solid grip, he wraps his right arm behind her then clasps his arms in a bear hug, now smirking down at her smaller frame in his own grip.

She is writhing and fighting in his grip as her breath is short and the pressure is building, trying to open her arms out to push from the hold. Despite her werewolf strength, which should be greater even than a human of his size, he holds her almost casually, flexing and drawing a gasp from her as her vision reds out. She swings her head forward in a last ditch effort to head butt him, but he turns his head and she lands only a glancing blow on his shoulder.

"You were never a match for Heracles, puppy," the man says with a gruff laugh as she passes out, her vision black.

Richard stands next to the bow of the ship as they close on the docks of New Orleans, his M4 rifle cradled in his hands. He wears his red, black and grey armor, layered and muted, a leather scarf protecting his neck as well, light gloves on his hands. Tasha is on the opposite side of the bow, and they are both frowning as they approach.

"Something is wrong," Richard says flatly. "The explosives should have gone off by now."

They study the distant shoreline, the twenty longboats using sail and oars to keep on course. The piers are gathering with soldiers now, and the center pier, where his ship is aiming, erects a high pole, a white flag atop it. Streaming from the pole as well is a series of smaller flags, and Richard looks to the ship's captain.

"A request to parlay," the captain says, lowering his binoculars.

"Order the other ships to hold," Richard says, looking to their own ship. "Bring us to that pier."

They row on in silence as the bundle of corresponding flags are raised from their own mast, and soon the longboat is alongside the dock. Richard leaps easily onto the dock, Tasha behind him and with a Viking group of ten at their backs, Tony mixed in with them. The young man is armored in the leather armor that was Richard's once, blades on his person, a bow slung over a shoulder and quiver on his back. The most unusual piece of gear, however, is the all-encompassing mask he wears, small metal plates sewn into the flexible protective covering.

Richard stops ten yards from the group opposite him, the rest of the pier cleared off save for five figures in front of him. Four of them are men, three with plate armor, greaves, pauldrons and armored skirt in the Greek style, though all in different styled metals and colors. The fourth man is huge, seven feet tall and wears leather only, the head of a lion pelt on his shoulder as he holds a giant battle axe easily one handed. The other three stand under seven feet tall and over six, wide in shoulders and narrow in the hips, classically made Greek heroes to Richard's eye. The central figure is who catches his eye completely, having not seen her in eight years.

"Hello, Kalypso," Richard says with a hard stare at the witch goddess.

"Greetings… Richard is it now?" the woman replies with a smile of her own.

She stands five and a half feet tall, just a hair taller than Richard, her body is lean and mostly athletic, though her joints hint at a boniness rather than solidity. Her skin is a tanned olive, her eyes exotic and her lips thick and full, a natural pout as she looks across at him, her gaze hinting at dark, evil thoughts.

"It has been a long time, since that first meeting, years ago," she says in a purr, her right hand idly tracing the edges of her bunched up robe, a toga held in place with leather wraps around her figure, but her arms bare. "I hear you have come to power, since then. Have you come to try and take mine?"

"You hold the whole of the city hostage," he says with a growl. "I come to set them free."

"No one is free, monster," one of the men says with heat, and Richard looks at the largest of the armored figures, a man six feet ten inches tall, his armor gilded in silver, a golden bow in hand with a quiver on his hip. "We are all slaves to where we live, what we do. We serve these people, just as they serve us."

"Call me monster again, and I shall break you," Richard says conversationally, with a disappointed look at the man. "Who are you?"

"I am Theseus, son of Poseidon," he says firmly, glaring at Richard.

"Perseus, son of Zues," another of the men says, this one in a standard steel breastplate with a short sword on his hip and shield in hand, his head bared with black hair and stubble on his face, standing at six and a half feet tall.

"Odysseus, late of Ithica," another says, this one with a short black beard to match his own thinning black hair with a touch of gray in it, a bow in his hands with a sword on his hip, just over six feet and the shortest of the group.

"Heracles, son of Zues," the largest man says with a sneer at Richard, looming over the others and snorting in contempt.

"And I am Achilles," the last says in a bored tone, wearing bronze armor and shield, spear held casually to his side, a blond mane of hair under his helmet falling past his shoulders and his chin clean shaven. "I presume you've heard of me."

"You have a god of thunder to aid you," Kalypso says with a smile as she spreads her hands wide to encompass the heroes standing beside her. "While I have champions of my own, and fear not this pittance of an invasion fleet you bring to my doorstep."

"I will not permit you to remain any longer, Kalypso," Richard says in a nearly absent tone, glancing at the men beside her with an unconcerned expression. "I don't care where you go, but you can't stay in the US. The President and Congress have granted me authorization to remove you by any means necessary."

Kalypso barks a laugh which segues into an evil, maniacal laugh, and she waves at him and the group behind him, "Look at you, you have perhaps two thousand, here to challenge me. I have eight thousand here now, and can call another five within a day. And you have two worthy of the term champion, yourself and the thunderer. I have four and myself. You have no chance of victory. Not to mention…"

She waves grandly to the side, and on another pier, five figures are shoved forward, chained and with heavy metal collars on their necks, cotton bags over their heads. They are shoved near the base of the extension from the docks, near land, and shoved hard to their knees, then the hoods are removed.

"Leave my land, now, or I will kill them, while you watch," Kalypso says, waving at the subjugated forms of Mitchell, Maddie and three others from the Agoge, all in jeans and their leather vests, weapons stripped and dropped to the side on land in a pile.

Richard goes still as he looks across the hundred yards separating him from the figures on their knees, soldiers behind them with spears ready. His right jaw muscle twitches as he fights not to lose control completely, and behind him, Thor's expression tightens and he steps forward from the group of Vikings.

"I warn you now, once and only once," he says solidly as he glances at the shorter figure of Richard who is simply staring at the figures, his expression hard. Thor looks back at Kalypso after a brief glance at his friend and the war party's leader. Tasha is beside him and glaring at the distant figures, her own expression furious and gold flashing in her eyes.

"Release them now, and apologize, or you will all die," he says evenly, in a tone that is almost concerned as he glances from the statuesque form of the Khan.

"The magic is down, you have no power here," Kalypso says as Richard raises his right hand from his side to shoulder level, his fingers open as though reaching for something beyond the figures on the docks.

Odysseus and Theseus have readied their bows to aim at him, but stopped as they note no weapon in his hand and they are puzzled.

"You were warned," Thor says as he steps back, the others of the group doing likewise as Richard turns his head back to Kalypso and those around her.

"No one threatens my family," Richard says in a menacing growl, his eyes flashing orange, then remaining that color as he raises his arm fully over his head.

The Greeks all take a step back at the movement, the two archers' bows lowered as they look at him in curiosity. They all look at him in confusion, though their necks tingle with a sensation they are slow to recognize or acknowledge, fear. Their primal hindbrain is screaming at them to run, that the predator before them is angry, and will have its violence.

A boom pierces the sky to the north and west, and everyone looks that way, a speck in the distance moving fast into the sky, a trail of clouds behind it indicating something moving incredibly fast. Richard is still staring at Kalypso as he unsnaps his rifle from his chest, tossing the weapon aside casually. Kalypso looks back at him with amazement, the display of magical ability during a tech wave astonishing and unknown to her. He simply glares across at her, his eyes still a deep orange as the katana forged by the hand of Odin arcs from the sky, travelling faster than sound to his hand.

The weapon goes from nearly a thousand miles an hour to standing still in the space of less than an inch, and Richard lowers the weapon easily to his side. The sonic boom and kinetic energy of the movement has knocked all in front of him from their feet, having guided the sword to approach from his rear to allow most of the force of the wave to go to his front. Those behind him are still staggered, though, the water rising heavy with the passage of air, the ship rocking and the Vikings on their knees to keep from being knocked over.

Tony is the first of their side to act, rising with his bow in hand and pulling arrows out to fire across the distance to where prisoners are held. He has no idea who they are, though he recognizes they are on their side, so they must be helped. He fires fast and accurate, driving an arrow into the eye sockets of the guards poised to drive their spears into the captives' backs. They go down quickly, dazed and distracted by the wind and near explosion on the dock with their leaders. The captives do not stay still, either, but rise up and try to fight as well.

Tony and Floki are firing arrows at the guards to protect the captives and give them a chance, but Richard is ignorant of it, striding forward with his sword at his side. Heracles roars and charges the smaller man, and Richard parries the axe aside absently, turning and grabbing the larger man's heavy belt with his left hand as he rushes past. He pivots and turns, redirecting the man's momentum, then adding his own and heaving the man eighty yards distant onto the land, crashing into Kalypso's forces gathered there.

An arrow slices out and lands in his left shoulder from the rear as he finishes his turn from the throw, and he begins to spin the sword around himself as the two archers fire at him. He deflects the arrows aside as the two men retreat after their mistress, fear in their eyes as Richard grabs the shield of Perseus and rips it from him. The Greek hero spins and cuts low with his short sword, forged by Zeus to penetrate any armor, and aiming for the were-tiger's legs. Richard had parried with his own god forged weapon, though, and a loud tolling ring resounds from the impact of the two divine weapons.

Richard ignores the deafness that accompanies the near ear shattering sound and kicks out, hitting the killer of Medusa and slayer of the Kraken in the chest with his foot. The kick splinters the armor and sends the man flying backwards from the blow, off the pier and into the water. Richard sets the shield on the ground and leans it against his leg as he reaches behind him and pulls the arrow from his shoulder. The movement is almost casual as he maintains eye contact with the remaining figure between him and the foot of the dock.

Achilles stands before him with his own shield held easily to the side, spear level opposite, and sets his shield down as well. The Greek hero of legend pulls his helmet off and tosses it into the water ten yards to the side, the pier they stand on only twenty yards across. The blond mane falls below his shoulders and across his face, but Richard can see beyond the shadows to the scar that cuts across the face and the milky eye beneath.

"You are a warrior," Achilles says, picking up the shield and seating it on his arm as Richard does the same, his gaze undeterred from his focus on his opponent. "You know what the Spartans yearn for, what they wish for, don't you?"

"A true warrior seeks not victory nor defeat, but a beautiful death, and someone worthy to bring it to them," Richard says evenly, his eyes dimming and returning to normal hazel green, with flecks of golden orange among it.

"Let us see if you are worthy," Achilles says, striding forward.

"Are you?" Richard says with his own smirk, having registered that his adopted daughter has a chance, and he needs to focus in order to win.

"Push off!" Thor roars as he picks up the M4 tossed aside by Richard and firing at the docks. "Ramming speed to the captives! Signal the attack!"

The men at the oars are heaving and pushing the boat from the dock as those who had disembarked scramble to go aboard again. The path of this pier is blocked by the battling Khan and Achilles, and the ship heaves to as a man misses the jump and falls in the water. Thor mentally curses but casualties occur in war, and he turns his attention to where Tasha has leaped on the dragon head bowsprit. The longboat is in the middle of the hundred yard wide channel between the piers, and Tasha leaps from the head on the uprising of the ship in the waves.

Her sabre is out and the blade dances around her gold and silver gilded armor as she lands between where the captives are fighting to free themselves from the steel and silver manacles. She turns and slices down on the exposed chains on Mitchell's hands, cleaving the metal in two with her strength and enchanted blade. She turns and does the same to Maddie, who has turned to expose her own chains, then turns and attacks the mass of soldiers.

The hoplite soldiers of Kalypso are trained in shield formations and simple movements and attacks. Though numerous, they lack intense training and discipline, and they buckle as Tasha slices the sharp heads from a half dozen spears with a sweep of her sword. She charges after the attack and places a front kick heavily on the shield in front of her, then follows into the gap, her eyes flashing as she fights forward. Arrows are falling around her, distracting the hoplites and causing them to look not only at the enraged lioness in their midst, but against bullets and arrows from the longboat.

The ship crashes into the base of the pier, the captives having barely dived out of the way of the nearly out of control ship. The boat rocks up and onto the pier, sliding as Vikings leap from the rail onto the pier and dock. The flood of warriors in mixed armor and weapons against the shocked foe allows for nearly all those on the ship to make the jump. A dozen miss the jump and fall in the water, though, pulling at buckles and weapons to try and swim to the surface before drowning.

Thor has the rifle in hand, the magazine empty and bolt locked to the rear, but he is swinging it like a club as he advances after Tasha. As the plastic and metal breaks and shatters, he hurls the barrel at an enemy, then pulls Mjolnir from his belt and begins to hammer at his opponents instead. He is in the gap created by the Nimir-ra when an arrow lances out and skips off the scaled armor of his arm. He flinches from another that nearly buries itself in his neck, and he pays attention to where the dark haired and shining armored Theseus is standing with a bow in hand fifty yards away.

He spins Mjolnir on its thong, deflecting arrows and advancing towards the hero, his next victory already racing in his mind as his red cloak billows behind him. His focus is a hindrance, however, as Heracles emerges from the side and swings his massive fist at the slightly shorter man. The blow catches Thor in the ribs on his left side, and he gasps at the pain, unsure but believing he has bruised or cracked ribs now. The hulking Greek has followed up and attacks Thor again, but the son of Odin leans back and ducks the blow. He is having trouble breathing, and with the magic down, his resilience is not what it would be, neither his strength. He fights on the defensive, fighting hard not to get hit again by the demi-god of strength, or to let an arrow from the archer strike him in an exposed area.

A flash from the side, and the same focus that had allowed Heracles to land his first, telling blow against Thor is his own weakness. Maddie hits him hard in his side, having run and leaping up under his shoulder, tackling him to the side and landing on the larger man. Maddie's tackle is accompanied by her sword licking up across the huge man's chest, but failing to penetrate the lion hide wrapped there for protection as a mantle. Heracles' breath is knocked from him, but his wrestling reflexes kick in and he immediately shifts from under the smaller opponent to on top. Maddie is slammed into the ground and her vision swims as her gladius clatters away, her breath hard to grab. She gasps a breath as she grabs at the elbow shoved into her collar and neck, pushing to keep from being strangled.

"Some puppies never learn," Heracles growls at her, and she reaches up with a snarl of her own.

Her right hand smacks him open palmed for a few moments, then she steadies her hand and traces his brow with her thumb. She then growls and mentally pictures her fingers as claws, visualizing a shift to warrior hands. She has tried to maintain a warrior form and never succeeded, and failed epically when trying to do a partial shift when instructed by the Xiangs. They had given her the classes, though, talking her through the mental disciplines and processes, though she always fails. Today, though, she does not fail as magic crashes into the world, tech useless while magic courses through her veins.

The thumb and fingers of her right hand sprout claws and she tears the left eye out of Heracles' face, gouging rents in his head and scalp. The son of Zeus roars in pain and anger, the pressure on Maddie's neck increases, and her vision starts to go red at the edges, details blurring. She continues to shove her thumb deeper into the eye socket, refusing to let go or give up even as awareness fades from her.

Tony has no idea what he is doing. He is a seventeen year old with a bow and sword, following hardened Viking warriors and shapeshifters into battle against Greek warriors and heroes. He has magic and enhanced senses, and that is the only reason he is not dead right now, as he pulls and draws his bow, firing at the distant figure of Theseus. The Greek hero fires a split second after Tony, Tony's arrow broken by the Greek's in mid-flight, and he pauses as he looks across the battlefield at his opponent.

His focus, though, is greater than that of Heracles or Thor, thanks to his magic drenched senses, and he can feel a surge in the world, a premonition, and he knows in his bones magic is about to return. With that expectation, he pulls a special explosive arrow from his quiver and runs at an oblique towards Theseus, past where Thor is stumbling to his feet. Tony leaps and fires, the magic grasping the world as he releases the string. He lands in a cleared patch from where the female shapeshifter had tackled Heracles, and he drops his bow as he lands and rolls. The arrow flies straight and true, though he is focused on where the female shapeshifter is trying to not be strangled.

He pulls his sword from his hip and spins in a simple but practiced movement, a part of his mind reminded of his father's advice to make the simple things instinctive. He cuts low and across, cutting the tricept from the right arm that is shoving into the shapeshifter's neck, then continues the movement while reversing the blade, shoving the tip into the thick demi-god's exposed jaw joint. The blade catches and tangles amid blood, bone and sinew so he releases the handle before he turns back and snatches his bow back up from where he had discarded it.

He turns and draws his next arrow, the smoke and light of the magic arrow he had fired at Theseus starting to dissipate in the open air of the dock. He draws and fires, his milky eye piercing the smog clearly despite the thin cloth over the eye, magic causing his vision in that eye to be superhuman. The arrow sails through the smoke that would obscure a normal person's vision, and his arrow sails straight at the Greek's chest. Theseus is surprised at the accurate arrow and has no time to dodge, though he turns his bow slightly, and the arrow explodes on the arc of the weapon and not his chest.

Maddie is spitting the blood of Heracles from her mouth as she struggles to her feet, her ears pounding. The last thing she remembers before nearly passing out was a katana blade shoving itself into the huge man's neck from the side. Then her face had been drenched in blood, hot liquid dropping into her mouth and nose, nearly drowning her. She had gasped as the pressure of the choke hold had gone away, but only inhaled the coppery fluid, and she fights not to vomit. She wipes her eyes clear and pauses at the sight before her, not sure if she is seeing things or not.

Someone is firing a bow next to her, at a target in the distance, and that person is wearing Rick's armor, with his equipment on his belt and back as well. She glances at Heracles' body, and recognizes the hilt of Rick's sword in the man's neck, the killing blow.

"Rick?" she asks, puzzled, as the figure has a mask on that has plates of metal sewn into it.

"Tony," he replies in a voice that is a lot like Rick's. "I'll explain later," he says, firing methodically. "I'm on your side."

Maddie pauses, but Thor is walking past them, Mjolnir in hand as lightning sparkles in his eyes. The large god of thunder does not attack Tony, as he does the enemy, so Maddie simply puts him in the friend category, then turns her attention to those that are foe. She mutters the command word and the gladius flares with flames along its length, then she joins the others in attacking the shocked masses of enemy combatants.

"Thor! Go aloft, watch the sea!" Tasha roars from twenty yards away, pulling away a shield from an enemy soldier.

Thor pauses from his advance on Theseus, then spins Mjolnir and flies into the air like a bullet. Maddie pauses as she assesses the battle, the sky above dark and the beginnings of funnel clouds forming. She pushes that aside and pulls the katana from Heracles' dead body, turning and tossing it to the archer. Tony grabs it in mid-air, spinning it to the side and sheathing it before returning to firing his bow. Maddie runs to Tasha's side, unsure where else to fight, but figuring her legal guardian would not mind her sticking close.

Autumn is sitting on the ugly riding beast as she glances at the sky nervously. The invasion should be starting soon, if it has not already started, and once the magic came into the world Rich would call his sword. When the weapon flies overhead is their signal, she just hopes she will notice it when it does, it is not a large object.

She sighs and looks at the group with her, but before she can survey them, a movement catches her eye in the distance. The speck of darkness in the sky is there, zipping across over her head and gone in the blink of an eye, travelling not more than a hundred yards over the ground. The passage causes a sonic boom of its passage, and all the beasts flap irritably at the sound and the sudden gust of wind at its passage.

"What the fuck was that!?" one of the white Vohls with her asks, many of the others with her voicing the same sentiments.

"That's our signal!" Stanislov says without hesitation, as she is just realizing that was Rich's sword. "Let's go!"

Richard had been trading blows evenly with Achilles, but has started to fight more defensively since the magic wave hit the world. The hero of the Trojan War has changed his fighting style from fast and balanced with deflection of attacks to aggressive and nearly reckless. The reason for the change was obvious, as his skin now shimmers and taken on a grayish tone to it, and when Krigsherre cuts through the breastplate it fails to pierce the warrior's skin. Richard has changed tactics accordingly, though his shield is shattered now and he is fighting fast to avoid severe injury.

He leaps back from the Greek hero, landing near the base of the pier, the blond haired master warrior ten yards away with a smirk on his half hidden face.

"I am the embodiment of combat, creature," Achilles says with a smirk. "A god in all but name, undefeatable in single combat. Ares himself could not beat me, you cannot defeat me."

"I don't have to," Richard says with a tight expression, then smirking. "I just have to kill you."

He turns and cuts down hard on the pier and the wood and steel base splinters for five yards along his cut, enhanced by the magic of the blade. He cuts again quickly in the opposite direction and throws the blade to continue the cut. The pier is severed from the land, and the pylons are shattered from the force of the blade hitting the ground twenty feet below the waves. Richard has spun back around and dives as Achilles has sprung from his stunned stance towards land.

Richard pounces like his inner beast and tackles Achilles in mid-air, grabbing the man's right wrist and holding it, the short sword in it as well, to the side. The Greek tries to eviscerate the Khan with it as they tumble through the air into the waves. Richard has gulped air before landing amid the water, but is under no illusions that the master of the Myrmidons, legendary marines of Greek times, can hold his breath longer. They sink to the ocean floor quickly, Richard spinning to be on top, and his armor's weight dragging them down fast.

He has pinned the Greek with one hand on the wrist holding the sword away and the other pinning his collar. He releases his right hand, his own legs holding the other man's hips to the ground, and extends it to his side. Krigsherre's handle lands in his palm in only a second, and Richared lays the Uru forged weapon across Achilles' leg. He releases the handle and pushes off the ocean floor with his legs, springing towards the surface and air. Achilles swipes after him with his sword and cuts deep across Richard's shin, the water stained a deep red from his blood.

The Greek bends at the waist and pushes to follow, but his leg is pinned by Krigsherre, the weapon locked in place. The resurrected hero of Troy releases his sword and grips the Odin forged weapon and heaves on it, but the sword is unmoved. He fights and strains against the fixed object pinning his leg in place and screams in frustration under the waves. Air bubbles rise to the surface, twenty feet away, so close, and yet too far away…

Richard has formed his hands into claws and is dragging himself out of the water, up a wooden support pillar onto land. His leg is cut deep, and he pauses in his ascent to reach down and cut his boots off, both feet bare now. He resumes his climb with clawed feet and hands, and is quickly on land, his armor dented and gashed from his fight with Achilles, but intact. He takes a breath and surveys the field, pulling a throwing knife from his vest as he does.

He launches it at an enemy soldier, who is fighting against the Vikings trying to hold the beachhead they have forcibly taken. The soldier falls as the Vikings continue to surge forward, and Richard turns to look to the ocean, looking for the other ships. The other ships are converging on where the first ship had crashed into the docks, to widen the hold. He nods to himself and turns back to the land as the Vikings rush past him, chasing the enemy soldiers.

He looks skyward in the reprieve, noting the funnel clouds formed in the once clear sky that is now dark and overcast. He can see the speck that is Thor, fighting to keep the weather in check against the Sea-Witch. Richard frowns hard and thinks carefully, trying to figure out the time since he's called his sword, but before he can decide on a good number he is attacked. His paranoid reflexes are his only savior, as the arrows fly at him from an archer a hundred yards distance, and he drops to a knee and swings out with his kurki.

He jumps to the side and picks up a discarded shield and crouches behind it, confirming his time, but then re-assessing the field, as something feels off. The soldiers of Kalypso are falling back in a barely controlled retreat, a rout from the docks. He notes that the arrows that had assailed him were only some of a volley, the enemy on buildings a hundred yards from the docks and dropping the missiles to allow their forces to retreat. Richard glances skyward, and notes that although Thor is not losing ground, he is not gaining superiority over Kalypso's control of the storm overhead.

He mentally clocks the time and visualizes the map of the area, and where his forces are, and then where it appears that Kalypso's troops are at. His main concern was the chokepoints leading to the city from the landward approaches. He frowns and tosses his head in dismissal, nothing to do about it now, the orders already given before he'd even left the hangar with the plane. So he simply shouts orders with the stolen Greek shield to form up and hold the docks, and he searches the retreating enemy formation for a sign that his other hammer has dropped.

Kalypso pauses in her casting to take a breath and a drink from a cup of wine at her side, exhaustion dragging on her as she conjures her energies to bring the storm. She turns from the pool of water before her where the blood of six sacrifices are mixed, the bodies lying partially in the pool from it. She is a mile from where the fighting is, at one of her temples, as her mansion is burning still from the Khan's attack. The pool before her is flush with the marbled floor, and she hands the empty cup to a servant at her side, who is splattered with blood, as is she.

"What is the status of our forces?" she asks over her shoulder, where Odysseus is standing near the door, receiving reports and giving orders.

"They've strengthened their foothold, and expanded over a mile, pushing their flanks out," the legendary veteran of the Trojan War says, pointing in the distance to indicate the positions. "But he has pushed too much to his flanks, and his center is weak. I have amassed all our forces to thrust in his center, which will divide his people and we can destroy them one at a time."

"What has happened to Heracles, and Achilles?" she demands, turning from the pool to stand beside him, her face a scowl as she looks down the cathedral's stairs to where Achilles' chosen, the Myrmidons, are gathered as her honor guard. "Why have they not reported back? I value your advice, but Achilles should be ordering the army."

Odysseus stiffens, his face grim as he shifts his black bow to his right hand, turning to face the Witch-goddess.

"They are dead, my lady," he says simply. "Heracles was slain while trying to fight the thunderer, killed by a shapeshifter and an archer. Theseus saw it happen, was nearly slain himself by the archer."

Kalypso's face stiffens into a snarl as she looks to where the fighting continues, then skyward where Thor is pushing her recent spell back upon itself.

"And Achilles?" she asks, fearing she knows the answer.

"Dragged beneath the waves by the Khan, who emerged alone, rejoining his own forces," he says stiffly. "I am certain he is dead."

"I will hold the thunder god at bay," she says with a snarl. "When Theseus is done leading the charge against the Khan, send him to me, so I may have him slay Thor. His bow has the range."

Kalypso turns to resume her spells over the human sacrifices and blood within, but Odysseus speaks quickly, though his voice is stiff.

"His bow has been destroyed, an explosive bolt struck it, more powerful with magic than any other we have seen," he says quickly. "It maimed his face, and his hand. He is being treated now, by our healers. I only pray he will be there for the next attack."

"Perseus?" she asks after a pause, digesting the news, her tone firm but inwardly shaken by the sudden losses.

"Alive, and angry," he replies with a firm nod. "He was tossed in the sea, but his father is of the sea, and he rejoined our forces quickly. He is rallying the men now."

"Send him the Myrmidons," she says sharply. "Crush… the Khan… Now… and do not let him escape. I made that mistake once, and will not make it again."

Richard is helping heal some of the worst injured among his people and the Vikings, his skill not great, but his power and reserves vast. He glances up from one such healing, stopping the bleeding in a young woman warrior's leg, a shield maiden of the Vikings, and assesses the battle so far. Two hours since they landed, and they've expanded while the enemy has retreated. The enemy has archers, not accurate or powerful, short bows not longbows or composite bows, but enough to keep them from charging headlong into the city. His people want to give chase, and his instincts say the same, but he knows this city, the geography, and he knows things his people do not.

"Khan," Mitchell says as he trots up to him, Maddie beside him as a runner and assistant as the best among the Agogites. "The enemy is baiting and contacting our flanks, I think they are trying to bait us to focus there. We need to reinforce the center, we are too thin there."

"The center is fine," Richard says firmly, his eyes hard as he looks at Mitchell for only a moment and goes to another wounded warrior. "Have you readied the supplies, as I ordered?"

"Yes, the barrels and stocks of weapons and the bulk items," Mitchell says with a shake of his head. "But salt, oil and grain will do us no good when they push and overrun the positions. Even our worst warriors are better than their best, we have the advantage in a more capable force, despite the numbers difference."

"So far," he says with a nod, pushing an older man's leg into alignment, then pushing magic into the bone, so he will keep the leg. "But their varsity will be here soon, and I need them in the center."

Mitchell blinks in surprise at the last statement, surprised, "What?"

"They don't realize it," he says, rising and wiping his hands almost clean on a rag. "But they are doing exactly what I want them to do, what we _need_ them to do, so we win this quickly and decisively."

"What do you mean?" Mitchell asks, realizing he's not seeing the whole picture.

"What time is it?" Richard asks instead, head tilted as he tosses the rag among a pile and starts to walk towards the front line at the center.

"Sixteen thirty two," Mitchell answers, puzzled.

"How far, straight line, from Baton Rouge to here?" he asks, his mental math putting the numbers in line already.

"A hundred miles, one twenty?" he says after a long moment of pause, confused outright.

"How fast does Trixie fly?" he says, a rhetorical question, as he stops and stares at Maddie, whose eyes widen.

"No way," she says in a surprised tone, turning to awe. "No _way_ …"

"The codeword I used was Subedai," Richard says, apparently off topic and leading them again to where Tasha is with Jark and Floki, preparing for the next enemy attack that will come.

"Ghengis Khan's greatest general, in the opinion of some, was a man who realized that it wasn't just how many you brought to the fight, but how you use them, and when you use them," he says, a smirk now on his face as he reaches Tasha, who is scowling at him, her armor no longer shiny and crisp.

"Dammit, Rick, we need to attack!" she shouts at him, not understanding his refusal to push into the city.

"Do they look hangdog to you?" Rick asks as he steps onto a short pile of a broken cart on the street, a block from the storefronts of the French Quarter, where the enemy is formed up and holding. "I think they look hangdog. I don't think they're used to fighting and working this long."

"Which is why we need to attack, before fresh troops get here!" she yells at him, angry and not understanding his calm demeanor, the relaxed and indifferent disposition.

"Don't forget the Myrmidons," he comments off hand, not looking at her. "This should work out. Look, they're reinforcing now."

Tasha roars incoherently for a moment at the ground, frustrated, "Dammit Rick, we're about to lose more people! What the FUCK are we waiting for!?"

Richard smirks again and raises his voice high, loud and trained to cut through the din of battle, and piercing the pause in the fighting easily. His words cut out and every shapeshifter in the line three hundred yards across hears his words clearly, the human Vikings well enough to be understood.

"We came as liberators!" he roars to the backs of his men, some of whom startle at the sound. "They sent undertrained militia against us! Us, the warriors of Midgard and the best of the Horde! They insult us, to send sheep to battle wolves and tigers!"

He can feel his men shifting and relaxing at the words, a measure of their performance and abilities.

"They outnumber us. Good! More to send to the Halls as our servants!" he roars, referring to the Valhalla belief system. "They wanted us in that warren of a rat's nest they live in, but we won't go into their muck, their ruin! For it _is_ there ruin!"

He can see that a group of about a hundred and fifty men in darker armor has assembled just behind the lead ranks, and he grins darkly across at the enemy formation.

" 'Why' you ask? We should chase them, and beat them," he continues as he walks down the pile of debris and into the back of the formation, and it starts to move apart for him, Tasha and Mitchell peeling off to the sides to control the lines, still not sure what is going on, but having faith in him.

"All day, you have looked to the ground before you, at the enemy in front of you," he says, grinning now as he passes the front line, and he points over the heads of the Myrmidons formed up across from them.

"Look instead at the sky," he says, pointing at the fifty winged creatures flying below the clouds and close now. "Look at our allies, the Vohls, the Witches, and with them, a gift from the United States Government. A Platoon of Army Rangers from Ghost Battalion, to complete the liberation of New Orleans!"

The winged creatures, all owned by Richard, arc from the sky, two or three people on the back of each. They land on the roofs behind the enemy positions, and soon Kalypso's forces are surrounded with fighters to their front, Rangers and spellcasters to their rear.

"My lady!" Odysseus says sharply, striding into the large building she is in, his voice echoing off the hard walls. "They have dragons! They've brought in more forces, it looks that the US Government is aiding them."

Kalypso lowers her arms from where she had been weaving them in the somatic component for the spell. The magic pools and crashes, the spell ruined, and she turns from the blood covered floor, now over a dozen corpses chopped up and spread on the floor around the pool. Her jaw is flexing, clenching her teeth again and again, and she pulls on the leather ties keeping her toga/robe on. She is walking past Odysseus naked as she shouts to her attendants to bring her armor and weapons. The Khan may have taken the city from her, but she will take something from him in return…

Richard is fighting in the front ranks, Krigsherre in hand as he holds the center of the Myrmidon formation away from his own lines. Arrows and spells are falling on the enemy formation from above and the rear, so Kalypso's forces are pushing forward instead. He chops down and cleaves a shield in two, as well as the arm under it holding it up, the man screaming as blood spurts out. He raises the blade up on reflex as a flash from his right licks out and Perseus is there, his own shining sword in hand.

Richard squares off on the other man, his head covered with a dark steel helmet now, his armor plain and simple. Richard smirks at the hero, who lunges at him with his sword, confident of the outcome.

Tony fires unhurriedly and methodically into the enemy formation, picking out the plumed helmets of the enemy leaders. He has followed the advance as Richard had carved a swath of enemy dead up the center, the Rangers and magic users preventing them from routing effectively. He hurries to a run to keep up as the shapeshifters break into an easy trot at a command from their Khan. His enhanced senses allow him to hear that they are going after Kalypso, from the temple she is controlling her forces from.

He keeps an easy running pace with the Vikings, his senses enhanced, but not his strength or endurance, like a shapeshifter. He falls in at the side of Floki and Jark, both of whom are battered and bloodied, but still in the fight. They go four blocks before hitting opposition again, and they push through easily, the shapeshifters having only hit them and run past them to Kalypso. Within a minute of engaging, accurate arrows from the rooftops join their own, as well as spells and magic, fireballs, lighting and impacts, the Rangers and Magic users having arrived to cover them.

They push onward, and enter into a large square east of their landing area, an open park, and he takes in the scene with an ability unmatched by anyone else present. Richard is running towards where Kalypso and the dark bearded one that was called Odysseus are at, in the doorway to the temple facing the sea. Despite the distance, he can see her lips forming the words of a spell, a spear shaped like a lightning bolt in her hands. She shouts to the sky as Odysseus watches Richard approach and raises his bow to fire.

Tony judges the shot too far for his own ability, and watches as the Greek draws and aims. Before he can fire at the twenty yard distant form of the Khan, Kalypso hurls her own spear into the hero's back, then screeches at the heavens. She raises her arms high and lighting strikes her outstretched fingers, the thunder causing everyone in the square to pause as they look to the site of impact.

Kalypso is on her knees, her form smoking, wrapped in a gender correct set of Hoplite armor, breastplate and leather skirt, greaves and pauldrons on. She raises her head up, her dark hair wild behind her head as she looks at the dead body before her, and Richard's rising form. Tony notes the movement in the shadows behind her, though, from in the temple, and a moment later, an eight foot tall figure walks past the threshold of the temple.

It is a man in Greek armor, a thick beard and long hair, a helmet and breastplate over exposed patches of skin that are marble blue with lines of sea blue/green in it. The thing walks down the stairs towards Richard, having waved and said something to Kalypso Tony cannot hear from this distance. Kalypso rises to her feet and draws a long sword from her hip then flies into the clouds with lightning dancing around her.

Tony has an arrow seated, but he pauses before advancing, unsure where to focus his attention. Richard's attack is parried aside and the massive, twelve foot long trident is planted in his father's shoulder… and Tony knows where he needs to go.

Richard hangs from the barbed spear of the god of the sea and master of earthquakes, Poseidon, his feet dangling a foot off the ground. The ancient god of the Greek pantheon holds him up effortlessly, his beard a dark blue with sea green highlights, and his hair pulled tight behind his head. Richard is growling and clutching at the base of the tines, holding his bodyweight off of the wound as the sea god glares at him.

"You have killed sons and nephews of mine this day, _creature_ ," he snarls at him, sea foam dripping from his lips to fall to the ground.

The pool from within the temple has flooded over, and water runs down the deep stairs, rushing over Posiedon's ankles in a frothy foam. He glances skyward and smirks at the lighting flashing there, then looks back at Richard's bleeding body as he hangs.

"You brought a thunder god, to battle my sea witch, but he is no match for her now," he says with a satisfying sneer. "She is now my chosen, and with the blessings of the Almighty Zeus upon her. Pray to your pitiful gods, _khan_ ," he says the title with contempt.

"Know that nothing will take this city from us, nothing will defeat me, or my chosen goddess," he says the last with a confident smile, but Richard has started to laugh, though still hanging from the trident. "You fear not death, monster? At least you have the dignity to die without pleading or crying."

Richard's light chuckle turns into a deeper laugh as he pauses and spits up some blood, his eyes flashing orange and meeting the sea god's.

"I'm laughing at _you_ , shadow," he says with a smirk of his own. "You are a servant of man, a creation of magic woven from man's beliefs over millennia. A strong servant and a solid shadow, but a reflection for all that."

Poseidon snarls at him, twists the trident firmly, and Richard gasps, snarling as he twitches over the ground. He has both his hands on the trident's shaft and glares now at Poseidon.

"Your army is shuddering from the loss of their khan and the humbling of your heroes, your Horde and allies lie scattered and maimed on the field," he says, tucking the trident shaft under his right arm and waving at the bloody battlefield behind him. "You have no advantage, and you dare to mock me!" he roars the last, twitching the shaft again.

Richard holds the shaft with white knuckles and grits his teeth, glaring at the sea god with a bare gasp, his eyes flaring again as he holds the pain in check.

"You control the seas, the mountains and shake the earth, your brother rules the skies and commands the storms and lighting," Richard growls and smirks again with a chuckle. "I laugh at you because I pray to none of you, to none of _them_. You are all false gods, dreams and imaginings of men long dead and dust."

"You are an atheist," Poseidon says with a look of derision at him.

"No," Richard says with a firm shake of his head. "Roland is a man as powerful as a god created by magic can be, you are a recreation of a myth and legend. But you were created by the magic, fueled by men's belief and the magic. I worship that which created the magic, created man. That is to whom I pray."

Poseidon pauses and studies Richard, trying to understand the words coming from his apparently defeated foe.

"I pray not to gods, men or magic," Richard says with a sneer of his own, looking down his nose at Poseidon as he picks his weight off the tines. "I pray to he who made the heavens, who created the earth, the seas and the mountains. The one God who made it all, and watches down on us to judge us and see if we are worthy of his blessings."

Poseidon laughs now with a snort, "Your god has your army in disarray, your champions lost and wounded. What exactly has your god blessed you with?"

"My army is just now gathering, and will defeat your forces. And he has blessed me with children who will not be slaves, but are willing to fight to be free," he says with a firm expression at the sea god.

Poseidon pauses to figure that out, but an arrow runs through his left arm from behind, then explodes, taking a chunk of the shoulder with it. Poseidon stumbles to the side and turns, Richard held before him on the trident still. Tony is thirty yards away with his bow, firing again, and Poseidon swats away an arrow in flight, but Maddie is already in the air from his wounded side, and lands hard on his side. The Greek god stumbles and roars his own challenge, turning and shoving the trident into the stone steps, pinning Richard in place while shoving magic of the storm into the Khan.

Maddie is shoving the flaming gladius into Poseidon's side as he pins Richard, who gasps and shudders at the movement. The burning blade pierces through the open side of the breastplate's crease, and Poseidon rips Maddie from her grip on his side. She has shoved the blade in to the hilt, though, not dodging the grab, and the eight foot tall god holds her in his good arm before him. Before he can pull the nearly two feet of burning steel from his midsection, another arrow lances out and explodes with a flash and smoke, distracting the sea god.

Maddie pulls her father's knife from her belt and pulls her legs up, wrapping the huge figure's arm in her own legs, then slices into the under portion of the forearm. Poseidon reaches up with his injured arm to pull the werewolf off his arm, but another explosion, this one from his left leg and the small open crease behind the knee, rocks him from his feet. He slams Maddie down before him, and though he can feel the wounds catching up to him, he hammers his fist on the youth's hip and leg.

Maddie snarls and her eyes flash blue as she holds her leg lock on the arm and brings the knife in again to cut at him. The sea god snarls and roars at her, punching her again and again, frustrated that his strength is not enough to dislodge her. The sea god is bent over on a knee with the werewolf on his arm as the water flows past them, only a pair of inches deep and foaming. Maddie's snarl remains in place and she focuses on her next cut, her next stab, the last months teaching her that most pain is temporary, but quitting is forever, and will kill you in the end. Poseidon twitches again as a trio of arrows enter his back, fired from only ten yards away, piercing his seashell armor, and he falls to his side, dark blue blood leaking from him from a dozen wounds.

"But…" he says with a look of consternation as Maddie pushes herself away from him, and the archer, wearing a full faced mask, stops a few yards away and draws another arrow.

Tony does not say anything witty or funny, just unerringly fires the steel headed arrow perfectly through the eye slit and into the sea god's right eye, into his skull. Poseidon drops limp to the ground, a last gasp escaping him, and Tony turns away, looking to where he may be needed next.

Maddie drags her broken legs behind her as she pulls herself to where Rick lies impaled on the stone steps in front of the temple dedicated to Kalypso. The trident is thrust through his entire left shoulder and into the stone, and the water is thick with leaking blood under his body as he lies on the stones. She ignores the sounds of fighting and battle as she painfully crawls to his side, worried and indescribably scared as she registers the blank look on his face. His expression is slack and lost, a feature she has seen too often the last few hours during the battle when looking at dead and dying bodies.

"Rick, get up," she hisses urgently, looking at the lightning dancing across the sky as Thor battles against something, she has no idea what.

He lies limply on his back, the trident pinning him, breathing shallowly while his body is limp, and Maddie drags herself beside him. She pauses and takes a breath, remembering Rick's classes on assessing a casualty and being the assessor, that panic and uncertainty will not help her. After a breath, she shifts him to the side and looks to see that the barbs of the trident's tips have pierced through but not buried firmly in the stone, and that they are bronze and iron, not silver or gold. She reaches under him and snaps off the barbed heads, then pulls the weapon from his shoulder, and Rick gasps hollowly in response to her action.

"Stay with me," Maddie murmurs, her own broken and bleeding legs forgotten as she shoves her own shirt into the punctures on his back, treating the wound.

The water flow of slowing water around his body is deep red, and she knows he cannot survive without blood in his system. She has nothing to use to give him blood, and she grabs the front of his armor in frustration, her eyes bunched up in anger and fear.

"You can't leave," she says through clenched teeth, her fists clenched on his shoulders. "I need you to be here. Please, I need you…"

She reaches back and slams a hand on his chest, then hesitates, looking at her hand, realizing what she had done. A moment later, she firms her face and slaps him, hard, across the face and jaw, a determined look on her own face.

"Wake up!" she shouts at him, a glance at the sky where a lightning dances across a sky with a two silhouettes, one male, one female.

Richard is swimming in agony, his mind dragged back through the years to when he failed his platoon and his men died. Not just died, but a number of them tortured and harvested through their suffering for the magic their trials would give the witches conducting the ceremony. He pushes against the veil laid on him, blocking him from the world he knows is out there, unable to reconnect. It is thick, and heavy, and he can only see shadows, figures on the tapestry of light. He has felt something similar before, though, and this is cast with less power than Tiamat laid upon him.

So he feels the punch on his chest as Maddie hits his solar plexus to get him to react and does not. He also feels the slap and punch she follows up with, hitting his face and jaw, his mind swimming with the impact, and his thoughts trying to escape the prison he is in. The tone of Maddie's words pierce him, though, with that slap to his face, his child of another, not of blood but of responsibility, and he roars at the film engulfing him. He had been unable to breathe right, but now he roars, a short crappy gasp of anger and frustration, but a second later he is crouched in the shattered cobbles before the temple to Kalypso, his fists crunching stones in his monstrous hands.

He roars to the sky, his long canine teeth in his warrior formed maw dominant over any other feature, though his striped pelt is distinctive. Richard lowers his head in the momentary silence as those battling around him realize he is back, and shifting accordingly. He takes a deep breath to center himself and turns to his cub beside him, Maddie who had rolled away but had not run at his explosion when he shifted and roared. He crouches and touches his nose gently to her own human nose and runs the back of his knuckles across her cheek, a sign of affection.

He bumps her fore head with his own with a playful smirk and leaps away from the teen, calling Krigsherre to hand to fight with.

Richard is standing in the park in front of Kalypso's temple, still in warrior form and Krigsherre held in one hand to his side. The battle had been a near thing, his forces had been fewer, but better trained, more capable, and Kalypso had pulled the advantage of his attempted reconnaissance. They had won because of his use of the troops he had, and because no one but a few knew that the Rabbis, Witches, Vohls and Rangers were coming by air. That had been the ace up the sleeve that even Kalypso did not see at the end, the reason she had summoned Poseidon.

She had battled Thor until the sea god had fallen, and then she had flown away to the south, presumably to one of the islands she controls. Thor had stayed to keep the waters from flooding the area, and soon they will need to place permanent wards and better dikes in place, or evacuate the city. But they have the city, and the US Government will be here in a few hours to take control and decide. Thor will remain with the Vikings to determine the hand off to US Army and Navy forces, but he will be leaving by nightfall. Theseus had disappeared in the battle, as well, and time will tell when that thorn will reappear in his side.

He walks to where his only son stands, the mask he had worn in the battle in his hand, drifting in the wind from the sea. The youth seems to have aged ten years in the time since he met his real father, the scar tissue and colors arrayed on his left side, a serious expression on his unmarked right. He turns from where he is looking at the dead body of Poseidon, his finger length long dark hair drifting wildly in the wind.

Richard shifts into his human form, picking up a fluttering cloak from a fallen hoplite to wrap around himself like a kilt. He shoves his sword into a stone and walks the remaining ten yards to Tony's side.

"I'm amazed how you always seem to win, how you never lose," Tony says with a shake of his head, signing.

Richard smirks at the statement, shaking his head sadly, looking at his worn and callused hands before looking back at Tony.

"Those that know me, know that's not true," he says with a sad smirk, raising his head and looking at the sky now. "I failed many times, screwed up and failed more times than I can count… The truth is, you're not a real champion… until you've lost, until you've given your all in something that failed… and then owned it. Completely and without reservation, owned it… That's what a real winner, a real champion, a real _leader_ … does."

Tony looks across at Richard, the blood on the cobbles beneath their feet covered in blood as they talk, but he focuses on the older man in front of him.

"I understand," Tony says softly, and Richard raises his eyes to look at him, a slight question in them.

Tony snorts for a moment and gestures to the battlefield around them, "I'm a human, fighting with a bow and a sharpened piece of metal against gods and monsters. I screwed up, I put people at risk, just by being here and being the weak link, by being myself. I know that… but I'm trying, and I don't want to disappoint you."

Richard takes a sharp breath, working his mouth before reaching forward and taking Tony into a fierce embrace.

"I will never be disappointed in you, so long as you follow your heart," he says, laying a kiss on the young man's head. "I love you, son."

Epilogue…

Maddie frowns tiredly as she sits on the front bench of the wagon she rides in, one of three that bare warriors from the Horde on their return from the conquest of New Orleans, others walking beside. The Viking ship in the front drive crawls past, and she smiles a little as she sees the gates in view, glad to be home. She sighs and steels herself, though, as it also means that she is going to have a very emotional and difficult conversation very soon.

She and the others smile and wave as all the local members of the Horde are gathered at the gates to welcome them all home. Most are glad to see family they have been separated from, and those that had participated in the Agoge gone longer than others. Maddie's mouth waters at the smell of roasting pig behind the cabin as she jumps from the wagon seat in jeans, shirt and vest, sword and dagger on her belt.

She grins, though, as Jocelyn is already running from the front porch of the cabin from beside Richard and Tasha, who had ridden ahead to settle some other matters of the Horde. They all wear jeans and t-shirts, Richard and Tasha with their long blades on their hips, Jocelyn in a bright purple and blue knit sweater. She picks up her little sister in a sweeping hug, months of separation sinking into her as she holds her tight, tears leaking from her eyes. Richard and Tasha are with her after a few moments, Tasha beaming, Rick with his usual tight, reserved smile.

"I'm proud of you," Tasha says, hugging her when Jocelyn is on the ground again. "I didn't know you were going to try, and I'm glad you made it."

"I'm glad you didn't know, you might have talked me out of it, and to be honest…It was harder than I thought it would be," she admits, glancing at Richard a bit sheepishly.

"The things most worth doing, most worth accomplishing, are the hardest things in life," he says with a smirk, reaching out with one hand to her shoulder, then pulling her into his own hug. "Words cannot express how proud I am of you."

Maddie's throat catches, "Thanks, Rick."

She is sniffing away tears, and is pulling at the gladius at her side, "Thank you for letting me borrow it, it came in handy when it got cold out, and in New Orleans."

Richard only looks at the blade for a long moment, then at Tasha who only tosses her head slightly. He reaches out and wraps her open fingers back around the offered hilt and scabbard, then pushes it back to her.

"I have plenty of blades," he says with a crooked smile as he meets her eyes. "This will serve you much better than me, I think. It's yours now, you earned it."

Maddie takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, placing the scabbard back on her belt. Richard glances behind her for a moment, then smiles tightly and places a hand on her shoulder.

"The Horde will be celebrating tonight, the buffet, a party, and whatnot… but we're having a family dinner shortly," he says simply, turning and leading Tasha inside, Jocelyn giving her another tight hug around her waist before following.

Maddie takes a deep breath as she watches them walk inside, Mischa at the threshold holding the door open for them. She scented Joachim as Richard had glanced behind her, and he probably thinks she is going to reassure him then come join them for dinner. That, however, is an unlikely outcome from this next conversation.

She turns to Joachim who is smiling as he walks up to her, also in leather vest and jeans, his own gladius on his hip with a dagger. He had become leaner from the Agoge, and the last couple of weeks he had regained the swagger he had before the training started. She had never recalled the way he walked as such until it returned at the end of training, when he realized he was likely to pass. It was like he had mentally given himself permission to preen, to be cocky again, and that is when she recognized what he had been before. He had been a bully, cowed and threatened into line, following orders, but not really understanding them. And even after everything he has been through, he still does not get it.

"Hey, beautiful," he says with a self-assured smile, wrapping his arms around her and leaning in for a kiss.

She pecks him firmly on the cheek and gives him a firm hug, and she can tell he had expected more, and is confused. She backs up to let her look at his face, her own expression pensive, and takes a deep breath.

"Joachim, we need to talk," she says with anxiety.

There is shouting from the front of the cabin, and Tasha rises, but Richard reaches out and grabs her forearm, stopping her from leaving the kitchen.

"She's trained, if she wants help, she'll call, and her fellow Agoge graduates are there if she needs it," he says simply, not looking to the front door and beyond to where Maddie and Joachim are arguing. "And if we interfere without permission… she may not forgive us."

Tasha frowns hard, but steps back, her arm rising and resting on his shoulder as they wait for their daughter to call for them.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" he snarls at her, now a few yards away and pacing back and forth in front of the cabin.

They are in the front yard, and the other returned warriors from the Horde and their families are trying not to stare at the scene that Joachim and Maddie are having in front of the cabin. She takes a breath and pushes it out to keep her own calm, but refuses to apologize or be the victim or the villain.

"You're causing a scene," she says gently, gesturing to the side. "Let's go talk."

"We're talking," he says in a near shout, spreading his arms. "I went through the Agoge for you, weeks of crap to prove to that _dick_ of a father figure that I was worthy. And they piled it on extra because of that!"

Maddie's eyes harden at his tone and the implication, "Is that all it was, an initiation from _him_? I was _there_ , remember? All the training we went through, and all you retained was that it was a test?"

She glances around, incredulous for a moment while he tries to formulate a reply, but she speaks again before he can. "The whole point of it was to teach us, to show us who and what we really are, what we are capable of. It showed me who I really am, and it showed me we can't be together. And as for it being 'difficult', you got no extra crap from anybody, and if anything, the instructors went out of their way to ensure you _didn't_ get singled out!"

"Like you _didn't_ get special treatment because you're his adopted daughter!" he shouts back at her, and she hears a desperate note to his tone. She also notes that others from the Agoge have edged to the front of the circle that has started to form around them.

"She did not," Luang Xiang says from his own place in the crowd, stepping forward with a scowl and a flash of orange in his eyes, his own inner tiger. "I was in her squad for most of the cycles, and she was treated as bad or worse, if truth be told. And she _never_ backed off on helping any of us, when we needed it. And when I was pinned in the recon of Louisiana, she had opportunity to escape… but she freed me and kept Heracles from taking me, instead. She took my place."

"Shut your hole and stay out of this," Joachim snarls at the other youth, an 18 year old were-tiger from the Xiang Clan of tigers.

"Too late for that, bud," another Agoge graduate says from the side, this one a female were-jaguar in her mid-twenties, who worked in security and the Merc Guild. "You're full of shit, and we know it. You should have stepped off when you had the chance. And if the Khan had allowed us to peer out candidates, like they do at Ranger School, you wouldn't have made it. You did what you had to, and no more."

Joachim's eyes flash blue with his inner beast's flare of power, and it's Maddie that stops the confrontation.

"Enough," she says firmly, her own eyes flashing blue for a moment while glancing at the two other Agogites who had stepped up, waving them back, and they step back to the crowd as she looks across at Joachim.

"We're done. I'm sorry," she says with a final shake of her head, fighting her inner emotions, turning away from him.

"Not as sorry as I am," he says after the barest hesitation, calling after her in adolescent fury. "The others I've popped were better, gods know you had no idea what you were doing. Good luck having anyone go for sloppy seconds."

He says the last as though expecting cheers or catcalls from the crowd, but instead a deathly silence descends among the crowd. Maddie has stopped at the foot of the steps to the cabin, her face unseen from any of the crowd, screwed tight in an effort not to cry. She raises her head slowly, her jaw clenching and she is fighting very hard not to lose her cool. She is counting to ten and is at six when the front door to the cabin opens, and Richard strides out in the silence. Those in the cabin with heightened hearing undoubtedly heard most of the conversation, and the last may have even been heard by the unenhanced humans.

He never looks at her, but walks to the side of the porch, a large serving pan in his hand as he strides easily and unconcerned on the patio. He never turns his head or eyes to look at her or the crowd in the yard as he walks to the steel barrel grill in the backyard. The silence is palpable as he stops at the charcoal grill and opens it to a plume of smoke, reaching in barehanded to pull slabs of ribs onto the huge aluminum platter he holds in one hand. He walks easy, with no tension, and his voice carries no concern as he speaks.

"Maddie, the veggies will be ready in a few minutes, and Jocelyn made cupcakes for dessert. Lots of frosting, too," he says as he carries the four large slabs of meat back to the front door of the cabin one handed and walks in.

It is not lost on her that the attention of everyone in the crowd was on him, and she was able to wipe her face unseen for a few precious seconds. He also never commented to anyone or so much as made eye contact with a single person, as though no one in the Bastion existed… except her. She takes a centering breath and turns to look at Joachim with her best imitation of Rick's blank expression of calm.

"Grow up, Joachim," she says simply, adding a touch of a raised lip at the end. "Childhood is over, I had hoped that you learned that, if nothing else."

She turns from him and walks up the steps to join her family for dinner, not looking back at where the rest of the Horde slowly resumes greeting each other. The other members ignoring the teenage were-bear in their midst, alone and small in comparison.

Richard is at the kitchen counter by the sink, knife in hand as he cuts the beef ribs apart into threes to place on the platter again for easy serving. The tension in the kitchen had been heavy when everyone including Autumn had heard the shouted insult from Joachim, and he hopes his act had helped. His sister had glared at him, a request to go out and do something, while Tasha have given him a warning look not to explode. He had the pan in hand when he left the kitchen, and he had seen Maddie's eyes tearing up through the screen door. The decision to just get the meat had been on the fly, and he hopes he did not overstep in regards to her, or under-stepped in regards to the Horde, though he honestly cares more about his relationship with her.

He forces himself not to tense as Maddie walks into the house and into the kitchen, not turning from the meat in front of him. Without a word she wraps him in a hug from behind, and he freezes, then relaxes as she simply gives him a squeeze before going to the fridge to pull out a drink.

"Since you passed the Agoge, and you don't have school for the next two days, you can have beer tonight," Richard says with a glance at her, to which she raises her eyebrows and grins.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Tasha says with a shake of her head from where she is at the stove straining vegetables from water. "She's sixteen, legal age in Texas is eighteen."

"Vikings do it at twelve," Jocelyn points out, carefully placing individual star sprinkles on her platter of cupcakes, sitting on Tony's lap at one head of the table.

"Not helping, young lady," Autumn admonishes from where she is stirring cheese and macaroni.

"If she's old enough to fight and possibly die in the service of her people, then I think she's old enough to decide if she wants a beer or not," he says with a toss of his head.

"Does that mean I can have one?" Tony asks, bouncing Jocelyn on his knee while the eleven year old laughs and places the sprinkles on expertly.

"Maddie, this is Tony, my long lost biological son that I didn't know I had until shortly after you left for the Agoge. Tony, Maddie is my adopted daughter, Jocelyn's sister, as you know," Richard says, turning from the meat to introduce them informally.

"Oh," Maddie says, pausing as she opens the fridge, studying the young man. She is trying not to stare at the left side of his face, drenched in a kaleidoscope of colors, like a beautiful abstract painting, or the aurora borealis…

"We've met, actually," Tony says with a tight smile, interpreting her hesitation as shock to see his scarred face. "When you were fighting Heracles, then Poseidon."

"You were the one in Rick's armor, and the mask," she says with a nod, turning back to the fridge to keep from staring. "Thanks for the help."

"You had it in hand," he says with a shy toss of his head. "I'm sure you would have been fine. You already had his eye torn out. And you gutted the sea god perfectly, looked like you got his bladder in that thrust."

"Can we not talk about ripping our enemies apart in visceral detail while preparing food?" Autumn asks from the stove, scowling at the two younger folks.

"Do we have mint ice cream?" Mischa asks from a seat at the table as she holds the cup of sprinkles for Jocelyn, a confused look on her face. "With bacon, and maybe watermelon? And a touch of sardines?"

Maddie has two bottles of a local ale in her hands, twisting off the tops and giving her a puzzled expression, "That sounds disgusting."

"It does," Jocelyn says with a scrunched up face of her own.

"I'm craving it, bad," Mischa says with a longing expression into the distance while Maddie hands one of the beers across to Tony.

"Note for both young women in the room," Tasha says with a snort and a smirk. "While pregnant, women will likely have odd cravings for strange combinations of food that will change rapidly and unexpectedly."

"Our sister would crave grapes and mushroom chicken salad with beef gravy," Autumn says with a smile as she finishes sprinkling bacon over the top of the mac and cheese. "By the time her husband would get it home, she'd have changed her mind."

"And morning sickness," Mischa adds, sighing. "Never forget morning sickness."

"I'm the one here listening to it and smelling it," Jocelyn says with a shudder. " _I_ will never forget. Ugh. I'll adopt, I think."

Richard smiles and chuckles as he lifts the giant platter of ribs from the counter, and Maddie takes the finished platter of cupcakes from Jocelyn to put on the side. He sets the meat in the center, and Tasha sets macaroni and cheese beside the green beans, and then everyone sits around the elongated table. Richard reaches out, and everyone joins hands in a circle around the table, bowing their heads. He glances around at the two women he has made his life and his home with, his adopted children and lost son, as well as his sister… all with a smile. Normally he prays in silence, but the moment feels right for something more, and this time he prays aloud.

"Dear Lord Father Almighty in Heaven, hear our prayers," he says softly, eyes closed and head lowered as he holds Tasha's hand on one side, Mischa's in the other. "We thank you for this gathering of family, we are grateful for the bounty we have placed before us, and though we know that trials and challenges await us still in the future, we pray only that we continue to be worthy of the blessings you have placed upon us. We ask for Strength to win battles and endure the hardships, Patience when emotion and turmoil would have us act rashly, Wisdom to know when to act and how, and most importantly Courage to act when others won't and fear holds us firm in its grip. We ask you, our Lord, Amen."

End…


End file.
